


The Soul Connection

by dreamcatcher (darcangell23)



Series: The Soul Trade [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: AU, M/M, Slave Soulmates, Slave Trade, Soulmates, Top!Blaine, bottom!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:23:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 65,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcangell23/pseuds/dreamcatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where the black market slave trade is divided into slave categories, sex slaves have been born with the name of their soulmate inscribed on their wrist. This person is meant to be their permanent owner. But they still get sold and resold until their permanent owner comes to claim them. Blaine Anderson is a boy who was born with the name of a sex slave on his wrist. A slave who would be his soulmate. A slave who Blaine wants to show is more to him than just that, a sex slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Purchase

**Author's Note:**

> I initially wasn't going to put this up until I had finished with One Of The Same. But I feel a little guilty for going three days without updating that one so you get this first chapter now. I don't know yet exactly who all is going to turn up in it so I just listed New Directions and Warblers as a generalization for now. We'll have to see where it goes.
> 
> Anyway, this fic is not for the light of heart. It deals with topics as the slave trade and mentions of rape and abuse. But I have combined it with the popular soulmate premise to give it an extra kick. This chapter came out longer than I expected when I first wrote it but I can't promise the succeeding chapters will be quite as long. I needed to really set up the story and there was quite a bit of background that went into it.
> 
> As always comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

The black market slave trade had been going on since practically the dawn of time. Okay, perhaps that was just a bit of an over statement. To be honest, no one knew exactly how long it had been running for.

In the early days, it was just like people expected the black market slave trade would be. Everything was sold from sex slaves to labor slaves to simple household chore slaves and even slaves that were treated like cats and dogs, given a litter box or told to go outside to the use the bathroom. One thing they all had in common, they weren't allowed clothing.

Things for the black market slave trade weren't much different in modern times. They sold the same slaves as they had day in and day out for ages but evolution had evolved to the point where the market was strongest for the sex slaves and not for the reason you would think.

Science showed that around the mid-eighties, people born into slavery were found to have a first middle and last name that was not their own in black script neatly written across their wrist. These names could not be removed, not even by the means of tattoo laser surgery. Of course, such things hardly existed in the eighties.

It took immense study and careful research to discover that these names corresponded to a person born into normal society that also had a first middle and last name scripted onto their wrist. It was ultimately found that the person whose name was on the slave's wrist had the corresponding slave's name on their wrist and science showed that this meant they were soul mates.

Naturally as more information became available and the slave trade soul mate movement became public knowledge, every slave born with a soul mark as they called them was immediately assigned to the sex slave work force. Sex corresponded with relationships and naturally the black market thought that it was meant to be this way.

Some people felt that by selling sex slaves to the corresponding soul mates, they may have a better life but that wasn't always the case. Many people believed soul mates or not, they were still just sex slaves. Blaine Anderson was not one such person.

When Allison Anderson gave birth to her second son in 1995, a mere ten years after the first of the soul marks had begun to appear, she and her husband Gregory had no idea that their youngest would become a product of the pull.

Gregory and Allison weren't against the black mark slave trade per se. They just found the use of slaves for things housekeepers could do rather tacky. And they never once gave any thought to the sex slave division, although no division of the market was in higher demand or publicized more. But when it was discovered that Blaine was born with a first middle and last name scripted on the inside of his right wrist, they had no choice but to become a part of the circuit.

Despite knowing that there was someone out there for a slave that was meant to be their owner, the black market had a strict rule that no one under the age of sixteen was allowed to purchase or even own a slave of their own. As such many of the sex slaves were sold to multiple owners before their soul mate could finally come to own them.

Such was the case of Kurt Hummel. Born to Burt Hummel, a labor slave, and Elizabeth Stevenson Hummel, a household chore slave in 1993, Kurt's parents were devastated when their tiny son was immediately whisked out of their lives. It wasn't against the law for slaves to get married and have children and raise families. But every child born into slavery after the soul mark movement began was inspected. If they were revealed to have a soul mark on their wrists, they were immediately taken into black market custody and if they were clear, they were returned to the parents.

So tiny newborn Kurt was taken from his parents with the possibility of never seeing them again. He was taken to the Ohio state soul center where all soul marked slaves born in the state of Ohio were brought up. As young as the age of ten, they began their sexual training. Though the market was very careful to make sure virginity was always intact by the time they were ready for their first real master.

The black market's first sale of Kurt was when he was merely thirteen years old. Slaves with his kind of ethereal beauty sold rather quickly. And when he was returned for resale, he was hardly back at the soul center for even a few days let alone a week before a new master had purchased him.

Perhaps the only sign of care the black market showed for their sex slaves in the modern days was that they only sold them to masters or mistresses given the sex of the name on their wrist. If the slave had a female name on their wrist, they were only sold to female buyers and if the name was male, they were only sold to male buyers. For names that the gender was unclear, they were sold to both.

By the point of the present day, at age seventeen, Kurt had been sold and returned more times than he could count. Often with the complaint that he wasn't satisfying enough. This was nothing unusual. It was the common reasoning for returning a sex slave that in manner of soul mates, did not belong to you. It wasn't that they did anything wrong, it was that the connection was never there so masters were short lived and never far between in Kurt's case.

By this time, Blaine had reached the age of sixteen and was legally allowed to purchase a slave. His parents were skeptical about the whole thing but in the twenty something years since the movement began, the government had put into law that any member of normal society born with a soul mark was required to locate and purchase their designated slave. There was no time limit on the law, just the requirement.

Also, Gregory Anderson was still not quite so comfortable with the fact that his son had a male's name on his wrist. In the early years, he had hoped that because the middle name was strictly female, Kurt was just an unusual name for a girl. But when Blaine got old enough to understand the feelings in himself toward his gender of preference it was confirmed that Kurt Elizabeth Hummel was in fact a boy.

Because of Gregory's discomfort at both his son's apparent sexuality and the idea of Blaine even having to own a slave, it was decided that Allison would take him to the soul center.

Despite his discomfort, Gregory loved Blaine dearly and tried his hardest to understand. He put money into keeping him safe after Blaine was beat up for going to a school dance with another boy. He sent him to Dalton Academy.

Gregory was a family lawyer. He worked in family law and regardless of the fact that he appeared to have a strict exterior, he was really a big softy who loved children. He had been a part of the anti-slave children movement, an act that fought tooth and nail to get a law passed that children could no longer be born and raised in the slave movement. The act failed.

It was for this reason Gregory wanted Blaine to find his slave as soon as he possibly could. The boy was still a child too and Gregory was aware that by now, he had suffered more sexual abuse than most of the adults in normal society might have. He wanted to put an end to that as soon as possible.

So the first trip was planned for Blaine's sixteenth birthday, almost like a right of passage. Blaine was nervous.

"What if he isn't there?" he asked as his mother helped him into his winter coat before handing him his scarf and mittens. The biting chill out in the snow blustery winds of the late Ohio winter was enough to make one's teeth chatter even all bundled up.

"They are required by law to demand the current master to return the slave immediately if their soul mate shows up to collect them," his father said from his spot in the living room armchair where he was perusing the morning paper.

Blaine cringed. He had never agreed with anything that had to do with the black market slave trade and all he really wanted was to rescue this boy and show him what to really live was all about.

"I know that. But I mean what if he isn't in Ohio?" His father looked at him as though the thought had never crossed his mind before. It was rare but there were occasions when soul mates were born or raised and grew up in different states. For the most part, they resided in the same state or country, depending on the part of the world they lived in.

"Blaine honey, you know that's a minority," Allison said from her spot by the front door.

Blaine sighed, biting his lip. "And with my luck, I'll be in that minority."

Gregory stood from his seat, setting his paper down and crossing to his younger son. Their older son, Cooper, had already flown the nest, living across the country trying to make it as an actor in Hollywood but so far having no more success than a credit commercial. Gregory clapped a hand down on Blaine's shoulder.

"Don't sell yourself short Blaine," he said. "Now get going. They're expecting you."

It was a known fact that you couldn't just walk into the soul center and buy a slave. It didn't work that way. The rules for the rest of the black market were a little looser but with sex slaves there were greater security measures taken and you had to set up an appointment. The Andersons had had this appointment booked months in advance.

Blaine didn't say anything. He merely let his mother lead him out to the car, wrapping his arms around himself in extra protection against the chilly winds.

That very thought made his heart ache. He felt for all the slaves in the black market. None of them had seen a single shred of clothing in their lives. The only slaves that ever saw clothes were those who successfully lived to the slave retirement age. Then, they were given clothing for the first time and sent out to join society as real people.

With no clothes on their backs and the way slaves were often treated and man handled, Blaine had to wonder how common it was for them to get sick in the winter. He pictured that the black market headquarters and the soul center were likely very drafty. Slaves were not people, according to governmental law. The Andersons had always disagreed with that. No wonder slaves didn't often live very long lives.

His mind was reeling with all this plus a genuine fear of what state Kurt might be in when he first laid eyes on him. It was going to take all of Blaine's strength not to let his heart wrench at the sight either way. He couldn't bear the thought of the boy he was meant to be with in such a broken state. The slave's life must have been harsh.

The journey to the soul center passed in a blur and the next thing Blaine knew, he was getting out of the car in front of the large government official building. The capacity of soul marked slaves in Ohio must have been greater than he thought. Either that, or Blaine was forgetting that this was the soul center for the entire state of Ohio. Soul marked slaves born from border to border were brought here.

For a moment, Blaine wondered if Kurt's parents were in Ohio. There had been stories of soul marked slaves being born in a separate state to the one their parents lived in because their owners were on holiday. The issue there was that when they were born, they became property of the state they were born in. So a soul marked slave who was born in Florida when their parents' owner usually resided in say, New York, would become property of Florida and they cannot be shipped back to New York, providing greater separation from the parents.

He made it a point to see if he could track down Kurt's parents after he rescued him. The law wouldn't be able to do anything to him for it then. Once a slave was bought, the owner had every right to do as they pleased regarding the slave. If that included locating a soul marked slave's parents, than the government couldn't stop them. Their property, their decision. Blaine cringed at the thought of calling Kurt his property.

He went through the paces of following his mother into the soul center. The lobby looked welcoming enough but both of them knew it was likely a façade, trying to make potential buyers think the slaves were well kept.

"Good morning," the official behind the desk said, smiling pleasantly up at them as they approached. Blaine wanted to slap that smile right off the woman's face. "How may I help you today?" she went on. The sickeningly sweet smile still on her face made Blaine want to be sick.

"Yes, my name is Allison Anderson," Blaine's mother started. "I made an appointment for my son Blaine months ago." She nodded her head toward Blaine and woman glanced at him for a brief moment before returning her gaze to his mother.

"Is he of buying age?" she asked seriously. Allison nodded and handed over a copy of Blaine's birth certificate as proof. "Sixteen on the dot. Happy birthday than young man," the woman said as she examined the birth certificate before handing it back to Allison.

"Thank you," Blaine said tightly. It took all his resolve not to call the woman out on her false friendliness. Put on a front for the clientele and make sure everything was sunshine and daisies, or at least seemed to be. That should be the slave trade motto or something. It was so sickening how everyone who worked the black market was so sickeningly cheerful like it was the most pleasant thing on the planet.

"Do you have an idea what you were looking for?" she asked Blaine directly next. Blaine didn't have a clue how to answer that so he looked at his mother.

"Actually," Allison said. "Blaine was born with a soul mark."

The woman's eyes lit up at the news. "Oh how exciting!" she said. "May I see the name on your wrist please?" she asked then. Again, Blaine glanced at his mother. Allison nodded and he reluctantly presented his right wrist to the woman. "Oh," she said upon reading Kurt's name on Blaine's wrist. "You're a lucky boy. A real beaut, this one." She winked at him and Blaine forced the bile back down into his stomach.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "So is he here?" She nodded.

"You're in luck," she said. "Kurt was just returned again last night. We won't have to go through the hassle of demanding his return." She stood up from the desk, grabbing a set of keys from a hook on the wall. "Come on than. I'll take you to him," she said brightly.

Blaine wasn't at all sure what to expect but Allison nodded at him again and the woman came out from behind the desk. Blaine had no other choice but to follow her.

She lead him through a set of double doors and down a long hallway. More sets of double doors branched off the hall. They had plaques reading ward names. Apparently, the slaves were kept in wards. Blaine wasn't sure how they decided where each slave was kept. He didn't think he wanted to know. This whole experience was unsettling to begin with.

They passed a door marked dining hall and another marked training hall and Blaine felt a shudder roll up his spine at that one. He thought he could hear noises coming from inside and willed himself not to think about what they might be. There was another door marked prep room and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant. However, the woman caught him glancing at it and took the look on his face for curiosity. She smiled.

"That's the prep room. It's were we take the slaves to be cleaned and beautified to be put on display when we hold a mass auction. Or if someone prepares to come take a look at a slave in particular, we have the time to make them look pretty," she told him. Blaine didn't want to think about what that detailed but she went on to tell him anyway. "We scrub their skin to shine, put a collar around their neck. Girls are given decorative patches to tassel their nipples and boys have a decorative phalus inserted in their behind quarters to give them a tail."

If Blaine had wanted to be sick before, it was nothing to how he felt now. The male slaves were made to look like horses? He didn't want to think about how uncomfortable it must be to have one of those things shoved up your rectum, particularly for those males that were straight. Yeah, he needed to get Kurt out of here before he was subjected to any more of that.

Grinning broadly, she stopped in front of another ward labeled Angelus Ethereal. "We keep our extreme beauties in here," she said with a wink. Blaine likened the label of the ward to mean 'Ethereal Angel' but couldn't figure out why they didn't just say that. Everything was so damn complicated.

With one of the keys on the ring she was holding, the woman unlocked the door and lead him on through. It was not what he expected.

The ward turned out to be a series of short hallways lined on both sides with eight by eight plexiglass cubicles. The walls were see through on all sides providing absolutely no privacy from prying eyes and Blaine was not exactly sure how he felt about that. The slaves were already naked to begin with.

The path they took through the cubicles was like a winding maze. Blaine noted that not all of them had slaves in them. But small labels on the plexiglass doors stated the name of the slave and their age. Every single cubicle was exactly the same. They consisted of a single mattress and an old fashioned chamber pot in which to do business. He noticed that some of the slaves had their wrists bound together with rope.

"Some of them tend to be quite the feisty ones. Pulling all their strength to bang on their cubicle walls," the woman explained. They took another turn into a more secluded area. There were more empty cubicles back here and what few slaves Blaine did see were free of bindings. "These ones are the well behaved slaves. So they get special privileges. That's why they live back here." He noticed what was considered special privileges. These slaves had double mattresses, an actual toilet and a small sink in their cubicles. Some even had razors and toothbrushes sitting on the sink.

Finally, they came to the end of a hall in the secluded area and stopped in front of a single cubicle. The woman gestured with her hand for Blaine to take a look.

The cubicle was surprisingly well kept. Most of the others were soiled or in some form of disarray but this one suggested its occupant valued some level of cleanliness. The small toilet was polished despite being metal. The toothbrush on the sink was sitting in a small cup. The two mattresses were carefully stacked on top of each other against the wall. But what caught Blaine's attention the most was the figure lying atop the two mattresses.

The teenage boy was curled around himself. His shoulders heaved with the effort of breathing, suggesting he may have endured a recent chest injury and that made Blaine's heart ache. His skin was like the color of milk, even under all the dirt and grime that seemed to mar it. His hair was so matted with dirt and what looked horribly like dried blood it looked almost black. Bruises and small cuts littered his body.

The woman rapped on the plexiglass door and the slave's eyes shot open, darting over to look at them. The moment he took in that he had visitors, he stood from the mattress and moved to drop obediently to his knees in front of the door. Blaine got his first close up of him.

His face was well defined and sharply structured with outstanding cheekbones and a long prominent nose. If there was one thing Blaine was certain of, it was that this boy definitely belonged in this ward if not in something of even higher acclaim than ethereal beauty because words weren't enough to suggest just how beautiful he was.

"Hello Kurt," the woman said. The boy kept his head bowed, staring at the floor. This was him. This was Kurt Hummel. The boy whose name had been on Blaine's wrist for all of his sixteen years.

Up close, he could see that Kurt was indeed struggling to breathe and concern crossed his face.

"Is he all right?" Blaine asked. She glanced at Blaine before looking at Kurt for a moment.

"His recent master cracked his ribs. Bruised a lung but didn't perforate it. He'll be fine," she said. Blaine was not pleased with this. Why weren't there bandages wrapped around his chest? Or a brace to keep him from moving his torso too much? His lungs may not be perforated now but if they left him with unattended cracked ribs they very well could be.

His face hardened. He needed to get Kurt out now. He was bruised, battered, and had fresh internal injuries they weren't doing a thing about. This was not how he wanted his property taken care of. Yes, he hadn't officially bought him but many people believed the soul mark was a claim to the slave without even purchasing it. It proved that Kurt was his.

"How much?" he asked swiftly, eyes back on Kurt.

"Slow down," she said with a chuckle. "I know you're eager to get your hands on this beauty but I need to confirm he's your soul mate." What the hell? Did she really think Blaine was eager to put Kurt through more torture? Was she nuts? And why the hell did she need to confirm they were soul mates? Was it not Kurt's name on Blaine's wrist? Wasn't that enough?

Blaine's confusion must have shown on his face for she said. "Some slaves have more than one person with their name on their wrist. Another boy was by not long ago. He had Kurt's name on his wrist too. But Kurt's soul mark didn't match him so we denied the purchase."

Blaine felt his stomach churn. It was actually possible for the slave's soul mark to read a different name than his? So if Blaine's name was not on Kurt's wrist, did that mean he would not be allowed to take Kurt home and get him out of this environment? Blaine didn't think he could stomach that.

The woman found another key and slipped it into the lock of the cubicle door. She swung it open enough to slip inside and held up a hand for Blaine to stay behind. He wasn't complaining. The stench that wafted to his nose through the slightly ajar door was highly unpleasant. God he needed to get Kurt out of there.

"Give me your right wrist Kurt," Blaine heard the woman order and he cringed. The pale boy gingerly held out his right arm and Blaine could see that movement appeared to he painful for him. His eyes were squeezed shut. She grabbed a hold of his wrist, not quite so gently and Blaine wanted to scream at her for handling the poor hurt boy so roughly.

She examined his wrist, taking only a moment to read what was scripted there before giving her head a nod and unceremoniously dropped his arm. Kurt let out a small whimper as it collided with his side but bit his tongue to cut it off.

"Good boy Kurt," the woman said, patting him on the head like he was a dog. Blaine didn't know how to feel about this. She moved to step back out of the cubicle and Kurt returned to his kneeling position at the door. She shut and locked the door again, gesturing to Blaine to start moving back toward the ward exit but she said nothing.

Blaine took one last look at the slave that he was now sure he would be denied. She knew what the name on the boy's wrist was and she wasn't saying anything to Blaine. That couldn't be a good sign, could it?

They were walking back by the lower cubicles when out of nowhere, a slave threw himself against the plexiglass and snarled at them, both hands palm flat against the glass. Blaine's startled look turned even more horrific when he caught sight of the boy's right wrist. Scripted there in the familiar black script of a soul mark was Blaine Devon Anderson. Blaine felt his heart stop. He glanced at the label on the door. _Sebastian William Smythe, age 16_ it read.

"Heel Sebastian!" the woman shouted, the boy snarled again and didn't listen to her. She moved quickly, shoving a key into the lock and entering the cubicle. The smell from this cubicle was even fouler than Kurt's had been and Blaine covered his nose and mouth with his arms taking several steps back.

What happened next was not something the teenager wanted to see. The woman brought her hand palm flat to Sebastian's backside once, twice, three times and then he lost count.

It seemed like an eternity before she threw the uncooperative slave harshly down on his single mattress, pulling a syringe from her pocket. Blaine watched with horror as she pulled the cap off with her teeth and shoved the instrument into the slave's hip. The boy went still within seconds. Blaine didn't know what she had injected him with but he hoped it was merely a strong sedative.

When she was satisfied, the woman moved back out of the cubicle, locking the door. "Sorry about that. I told you some of them are pretty feisty. I don't know why his wrists weren't bound. I'll have someone come in and do it," she said.

Blaine didn't say anything. He remained quiet as she lead him back out of the ward and into the long hall, proceeding to move back toward the lobby. His mind was reeling over what he had just seen. That boy had his name scripted on his wrist. Blaine was just glad that he didn't have that boy's name.

"It happens both ways, doesn't it?" he finally asked as they drew closer to the lobby.

"What dear?" she asked him. Blaine forced himself not to cringe at the term of endearment. He hated this woman for how she treated the slaves, even Kurt who was what they called well behaved. She had still been less than caring with him.

"You said more than one person can have the same slave's name on their wrist. I was wondering if it works both ways?" he said. She gave him a look for a moment.

"It has, yes," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

Blaine bit his lip. "Because that feisty slave had my name on his wrist." To Blaine's surprise, the woman laughed.

"That may be so," she said. "But he's not going to have you," she went on, pushing open the double doors to the lobby where Blaine's mother was still waiting. "Now if you'll come along to the office," she continued once more, nodding to Allison as she spoke. "We can discuss payment."

Blaine's eyes were wide. Did she just say what he thought she said? His mouth went dry as his mother joined them and the three of them passed through another door on the other side of the lobby into an office where other people were partaking in various tasks.

The woman lead them to a desk where she took out some paperwork and slid it across the desk toward Blaine. "You'll need to fill this out. Don't worry, it's nothing too extensive," she said. "Just contractual information. Considering you're soul mates I'm guessing you aren't going to need the return policy information," she explained.

Blaine was startled. "I don't think I would need the return policy information anyway," he said shortly, suggesting the very idea was appalling. The woman raised an eyebrow at him but didn't say anything.

"Is it really necessary for him to fill that out?" Allison asked, looking skeptical.

"Mrs. Anderson," the woman said. "If Blaine is going to be the slave's owner than yes, it is necessary for him to fill it out." She pulled out a file from a bunch of cabinets behind her as Blaine was going through the papers. "This is Kurt's file. You'll want to have all this information on hand," she went on, sliding the Manila folder across the desk. Blaine was not exactly pleased to see how thick it was.

"What about payment?" Allison asked, already reaching into her purse for her checkbook.

The woman offered another grin and folded her hands in front of her. "It varies. Considering soul mates aren't likely to bring the slaves back, we usually charge them a lower price than people who only keep them a few months at most," she explained. "For Kurt, his usual asking price starts at twenty-five grand. But because Blaine will probably be his last owner, we can give him to you for ten grand."

Blaine's hand paused in its ministrations as his eyes went wide. They thought that was a low price? Ten thousand dollars for a used and battered boy was low?! He was surprised to see that his mother was not surprised by this. Allison merely nodded her head and pulled out a pen. She set to work writing out a check for ten grand.

The Anderson family was from money so shelling out ten thousand dollars for a slave was like a walk in the park. That didn't mean Blaine was any less surprised that the price was so steep. And that was considered low. Not to mention, Kurt's other buyers were asked for fifteen thousand dollars more than that at the least. They were getting him on a bargain price apparently.

Blaine shuddered to even think of Kurt's other buyers. He didn't want to know how many people had abused the poor boy both sexually and physically. He kept his head down, fighting the urge to cry and hastily scribbling through the paperwork.

He finished the paperwork and slid it back across the desk just as his mother slid the check across the desk. The woman beamed at both of them and snatched first the check and then the paperwork. She wrote out a receipt and handed it to Allison before looking over the paperwork Blaine had filled out.

"Splendid," she said. "Everything seems to be in order," she added with a grin, filing the paperwork away. "You will need to purchase him a collar within the next month or so. There will be a mandatory first month visit by the center to see how you're getting on and then after that, they'll be every six months for the next two years."

Blaine's eyes went wide. Why the hell did they have to do mandatory visits for two years? He hated that he was expected to be handling Kurt like he was a toy and not a person. He was going to have to get Kurt to trust him on a level that they could pretend everything is what the center expects of them. That was probably going to be easier said than done.

The woman snapped her fingers and a guy in hospital scrubs entered through a side door. "Bring Kurt Hummel here please. He's been purchased," she said.

The guy glanced from the woman to Blaine in surprise. "Already? He was just returned last night!" he said incredulously.

"Yes well this time, he won't be returned," the woman said. "Blaine here is his soul mate." Again the guy looked at Blaine in surprise. He didn't say anything though. He merely nodded his head and disappeared through the side door again.

The wait was agonizing and uncomfortable but after several minutes, the side door opened once more and the guy reappeared. Blaine tensed heavily when he noticed the guy had a rope in his hands. His eyes traveled down the rope to where the other end was tied so tightly around Kurt's wrists, Blaine wouldn't be surprised if it was cutting off his circulation. To make matters worse, the boy was on his knees crawling awkwardly along as his bound hands made it difficult to pull himself forward. He wasn't even allowed to walk.

A glance at his mother told Blaine she looked just as tense as he felt. They shared a moment before the guy approached Blaine, holding out the end of the rope to him. Blaine took it sadly and looked down at Kurt whose head was obediently down so his eyes stayed on the floor. His breathing was still harshly ragged. They would need to get that taken care of.

"What's wrong with his breathing?" Allison asked, trying to mask the pained look on her face.

"Cracked ribs. We think they're putting pressure on at least one of his lungs. He'll be fine," the woman said nonchalantly. Allison looked like she wanted to strangle her for just shoving it off. "Well, pleasure doing business with you Blaine. Please enjoy your new slave," the woman went on cheerily.

Blaine stood shakily and his mother followed. Allison leaned over to whisper in his ear, "We'll get him to a doctor as soon as possible." Blaine nodded his head.

"Come along Kurt," he said as gently as he could, starting to head out of the office. Allison mustered up a thank you for the woman as she followed her son and the poor slave out. Kurt was still crawling awkwardly and Blaine wanted so badly to tell him he could walk but the last thing he needed was for these people to see him treating a slave like a person. They'd take him back in a heartbeat.

But perhaps the biggest thing on his mind as they made for the doors to the center was, how the hell was he going to keep Kurt from freezing?


	2. To The Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first. I cannot thank you guys enough for the incredible response I've had to the story so far. And thank you all for your comments. I know I didn't reply to any of them but I am definitely taking your suggestions into consideration. But I am truly touched and overwhelmed by the response so far. It means a lot, particularly because this is the first time I've dabbled in the slave trade premise.
> 
> Secondly, I do apologize for making you all wait for this chapter as long as I did. I'm still buried in what I was doing last weekend. Also, I can't write a chapter as fast as I'd like to because I don't have a computer so I write everything directly to the notepad on my iPhone, which means more effort.
> 
> Thirdly, those of you who may have not read any of my work before may notice I do have a tendency to kind of casually switch POVs within the chapter a lot sometimes. This chapter is mostly from Kurt's POV, but there is Blaine POV in it, more in the latter half of the chapter.
> 
> Fourth, again, sorry for making you wait so long but thank you for being patient and hopefully I'll be able to establish at least weekly updates if not more frequently. After One Of The Same is completed, I should be able to devote more time to this story. I hope this chapter is worth the wait.
> 
> Finally, as always, comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

Kurt Hummel was obedient. He had been ever since the day he was born.

A lot of slaves fought against what they were meant to do but there were those few that never disobeyed a word. And it was sad because these particular slaves were abused for fun, merely because they never did anything to warrant punishment and so, they were punished for being too obedient.

Kurt couldn't tell you how many owners he'd had between the age of thirteen and this cold February day when Blaine came to save him. Though the slave certainly did not believe he was being saved in the beginning. No slave ever had that expectation going into new ownership. Not even when the person was their soul mate.

But he could tell you he had always been obedient. It was why his home in the soul center was in the secluded area of his ward. He was obedient. He never talked back and only spoke when he was told to speak. He never hesitated to disobey a direct order, no matter how much he didn't want it.

And he could tell you how no one had ever used him gently. He was marked an ethereal beauty and advertised as one of the most fuck-worthy sex slaves on the market. It was why he had been purchased by countless in the closet horny businessmen, such as CEOs and politicians, senators of state and the like. And every single one of them purchased him for the same reason. The prospect of fucking a young tight ass into the mattress every time they wanted to get it up and they couldn't with their unknowing wives.

His quarters in different homes had varied. Some actually gave him a small bedroom. Others put him in storage rooms or made him sleep on the floor in their room. He'd been subjected to living in the attic or the basement and even having to sleep on the kitchen table at one house. There was one place he was made to live in a closet. How ironic was that? It did a number on his joints but still he never complained.

He was also used to countless injuries. Broken bones that never had the chance to heal, at least not properly. He was aware that any healing of those bones when he was finally retired - assuming he made it that far - would mean first rebreaking the bone and setting it to heal properly. But Kurt had endured so many broken bones, he barely flinched when feeling a new break.

That didn't mean he didn't show pain. He winced a lot when anyone applied any kind of pressure to injured parts of his body. Like he had when the woman at the soul center had asked for his arm. His ribs were cracked again, making breathing difficult because his lungs were bruised and the culprit of the dried blood was due to a fresh head wound his previous master had given him as a sort of good-bye present.

Slaves were never gifted with anything nice. They barely had enough to eat. The law did require masters to feed them enough to keep them just on this side of malnourishment. A food deprived slave was incapable of working and doing their job so it was either fill them with small snacks the entire day through or offer them one big meal a day, and that was considered generous. Not that many people followed those rules. Kurt was over the moon if he received even a whole bag of chips.

But the law only required a minimum on the food wages of slaves. There was no maximum. How much was appropriate to feed the slave was determined by the master's preference. Most of the time though, non-sex slaves were treated quite a fair bit better since that had more useful tasks other than just being there to satisfy their master's sexual appetite. That didn't mean they weren't used for sex though.

Kurt barely noticed the chill of the snow beneath his knees as he was lead outside by his new master. He had not allowed himself to even glance at the boy. That was disrespectful. A slave could not look upon their master without their master's permission. He kept his head down. His body was already constantly numb from persistent cold with nothing to warm him up. Which was why he barely felt the cold snow beneath himself as he continued to crawl awkwardly behind his new master and the woman accompanying him.

To his credit, Blaine was looking down at Kurt with such a pitiful expression. He kept glancing between Kurt and the door to the center on the short track to the car, wondering if they were far enough away yet that he could allow Kurt to stand and perhaps untie the rope from his wrists.

"He's not even shivering," Allison noted quietly from where she was walking next to Blaine and looking behind them at Kurt crawling behind as quickly as he possibly could.

Kurt didn't respond. He had learned long ago not to give notice that you heard someone speaking unless they were directly attempting to interact with you. He kept his head down and didn't give even the slightest sign that he had heard her.

He kept his ears clear, listening for sounds of a direct order from his new master, but his mind continued to wander as it always did, thinking of all the things he'd had to endure up to this point.

Kurt had been penetrated so many times in the last four years of his life, whether it be by rough fingers, his master's cock, or the decorative phalus he had to wear often at the center when on display. His hole always felt like it was persistently stretched and trying to grasp around something, even when there was nothing there. He was used to the feeling. One time when he was left alone for a brief period, he had reached his own fingers down to see if his hole was indeed still stretched, only to find it was so small that he realized the consistent feeling was an illusion created by his mind because he was constantly full down there. Much more often than he wasn't.

The gaping around air feeling though, did become a bit of a normality for him. Even if he didn't want it, his hole craved the need to be full. That was how much he had endured penetration.

When Kurt had been just a young slave, too young to begin real training, he had imagined a life being saved for the boy whose name was on his wrist. He'd had silly fantasies that they would allow him to wait until that boy found him. So silly because he was aware that there wouldn't be a chance of the boy even searching for him until he was sixteen. Kurt had no way of knowing how old his soul mate was.

Now though, all those delusions were just that, delusions. He'd been a fool to even so much as entertain the idea that he would still be a virgin when his soul mate found him. He was a young, healthy, exquisitely beautiful sex slave. The black market would be idiots not to milk all the money out of him as they could.

And now it seemed that his soul mate had come at last. But Kurt felt nothing. He felt no different than any other time he'd been sold. It was because he expected it to be no different now. Except for the fact that he would endure this time until he either died or reached retirement age. It was a pity that some soul mates treated their soul slaves exactly as they would any other sex slave. Kurt was under the impression that he would be with one of those.

That was exactly the terrifying thought that had entered his brain the last time someone had come claiming to have his name on their wrist. Kurt hadn't looked at the boy because he refused to disobey and be disrespectful but he could hear the urgency in the boy's voice and the hulking shadow that seemed to loom over his small sense of personal space suggested he was a big guy. Kurt was ultimately grateful the soul marks turned out not to match and the boy was denied the purchase.

It seemed that this time though, they did match. He only knew that the boy who had purchased him apparently had his name on his wrist because the woman had asked to see Kurt's wrist. So by that deduction, he could only assume that Blaine had finally come to purchase him.

"Aren't you cold Kurt?" The slave was startled out of his reverie. His head snapped up out of obedience, recognizing a comment meant directly for him and he forced his eyes to meet the ones looking back in his direction.

Pools of honey-hazel so deep stared back at him. But they were unlike any eyes Kurt had ever made contact with before. These eyes held nothing but warmth and concern in their depths. There was no sign of the usual hunger or other negative emotions he was so used to seeing in the eyes of those who purchased him.

He quickly tore his gaze away, after realizing he had held it too long and when he mumbled a reply, it was once more directed at the ground.

"I feel no cold sir," he said, voice delicate in its high-pitch, but light and just on this side of sounding defeated. He wanted so badly to see the reaction of his master but he could not look back at him without being given a direct order to.

Blaine seemed to sense as much for he frowned slightly and knelt in front of the slave. Carefully, he reached out a hand and gently gripped Kurt's chin in it. He felt the slave immediately tense up as though he were expecting to be roughly handled. It pained Blaine's heart that he would even think that. He gently lifted Kurt's head until hazel eyes met the piercing blue-green-gray swirls of the slave once more and Blaine could see the terror buried deep in those orbs.

"You really can't feel the snow?" he asked as gently as he could, allowing the concern to flood through his body and trying to send the spark through the hand that was gripping Kurt's chin, wanting nothing more than to allow the boy to feel how concerned and pained he was for him.

Kurt's Adam's apple bobbed, an action that caused him to squeeze his eyes shut and Blaine got the notion swallowing was a bit painful for him. He moved his concerned gaze back up to his mother, who wore an expression of heartbreak on her face, hand clutched to her chest.

When Kurt didn't reply, Blaine's mother swallowed herself, quite audibly in the action. She fiddled with her car keys in the other hand. "Come on Blaine, let's get him into the car," she said quietly.

Blaine nodded his head and released Kurt's chin, the boy's head immediately falling back to stare once more at the ground. When Blaine stood once more, he was struck by painful surprise when Kurt started crawling toward the back end of the car on his own.

"Where are you going Kurt?" he asked. The slave froze only for a moment. He tensed slightly. Kurt did not look back at him but spoke with his head still tilted toward the ground.

"To take my place in the trunk sir," he responded in that same tone that was just this side of defeated. Blaine's heart dropped into his stomach. Was he serious? Did Kurt honestly think Blaine would make him ride in the trunk?

"Why?" Blaine asked, unable to keep the pain out of his voice. Kurt visibly tensed.

"Because I have not earned the right to sit in the car master."

The sixteen year old did not know what to make of this. Kurt thought he needed to earn the right to sit in the car? He automatically expected to be made to ride in the trunk. Blaine became aware that this whole slave trade thing was much worse than he had expected. This was literally treating a human being like an object rather than a person.

Behind him, Blaine's mother let out a choked sound and he threw a look back at her to find her with a hand clapped to her mouth, her eyes already filling with tears. She looked exactly as Blaine felt. But he knew he couldn't let himself break down like that. He couldn't allow it to happen. He had to be strong for Kurt.

"Kurt," he said gently. "Please look at me." Immediately, the slave lifted his head and turned it so that his eyes could once more meet Blaine's. "You don't have to earn anything with me, do you understand me?" he said next. Kurt just looked at him, as though he didn't know whether to believe him or not. Blaine moved to kneel in front of him again. "I don't care what they taught you. I want you to forget all of it because none of it matters. In my house, under my care, you are just as much a human being as the rest of us."

Kurt sat there in halted silence, just staring at Blaine with eyes that for the slightest of moments suggested they thought Blaine hung the moon. And it occurred to the teenager at that moment that no one had ever called Kurt a human being before. He needed to change that. And he needed to change Kurt's perception. But he realized it was something that wasn't going to happen overnight. And if he wanted Kurt to ride in the car, there was only one way he was going to get him to do it.

"Kurt," he said slowly, licking his lips. He was happy to see that the slave had not taken his gaze away from his eyes this time and reverted it to the ground but was still staring at him in stunned silence. "I want you to ride in the backseat of the car. That's an order," he said.

Blaine absolutely hated actually giving the boy a direct order but he realized that until he could earn Kurt's trust and prove to him that this home would be completely different, the only way he would get Kurt to do anything he would like him to was by ordering him to directly.

As expected, Kurt shifted back around on his knees and crawled forward a few paces until he came to a stop in the snow beside the back door of the car. His head was once more dropped and he sat in a head down bowed position with his naked knees buried in the snow drift and Blaine wanted so badly to take the poor frail boy into his arms and hold him tightly.

"Yes master," Kurt said in that same tone. That was another thing they were going to have work on. Kurt calling him master or sir.

"I don't want you to call me anything but my name Kurt. It's Blaine. Do you understand me?" he asked then, knowing that it might be a challenge to adapt to.

"Yes mas—Blaine," Kurt replied and yeah, it would be a challenge. Especially when the slight lilt in his tone of voice upon speaking suggested surprise.

Kurt had never been given the honor or riding in a car without having earned it. Nor had he been allowed to call his master by name except if they ordered him to during sex. Calling a master by name out of context of a direct order was disrespectful and a slave could be severely punished for doing so. But Blaine had ordered him to do it so he would.

For the moment, Blaine seemed satisfied. He turned and nodded his head to his mother who finally went about unlocking the doors and Blaine pulled open the back door before he glanced back down at Kurt, still sitting in that obedient bowed position with his knees buried in the snow.

"Um," Blaine started. "Can you stand?" he asked. Kurt startled again though only slightly. He maintained his position in the snow.

"Never have I been asked to stand Blaine," he replied and Blaine cringed slightly for two reasons. One because Kurt had never been allowed to stand and the other because he realized Kurt was now using his name in the place of a title. The use of it at the end of that sentence was not necessary. That was something else they would have to work on.

"Well," he said. "I need you to stand so you can climb into the car." Slowly, Kurt untucked one of his legs and pressed his bare foot down into the snow. Blaine's heart dropped when Kurt showed little to no reaction to the ice coldness of the substance swallowing his foot as he pushed himself up onto unsteady legs.

It became clear almost immediately that it had been a long time since Kurt had been allowed to stand. His legs were skinnier than they probably should have been. Their apparently weakness was quite evident in the way they shook quite badly with the effort of holding their owner up. There was a severe lack of muscle and Blaine noticed a rather fresh laceration extending from Kurt's left hip all the way down to the knee on his left leg.

Kurt's knees were wobbling something awful and it was quite clear that they did not have the strength to hold him up. After only a few short seconds of standing, they gave way and the slave's body fell forward. Blaine was there to catch him. Kurt's reaction was immediate.

"I'm sorry sir, I'm sorry! Please forgive my disobedience of your order to stand!" His words were rushed and panicked and Blaine was pretty sure that his eyes were likely squeezed shut. Kurt was absolutely terrified that he had done something wrong by not managing to keep standing when he had been ordered to. He was clearly expecting to be punished.

Blaine's eyes went up to his mother who looked just as lost as he felt. He pulled Kurt more firmly into his arms, wrapping him up in a warm embrace and trying to ignore the awkwardness of the slave being naked.

"Shhhh," he shushed. "You did nothing wrong Kurt." Blaine brought a hand up to stroke at the back of the boy's head and he frowned at how unclean it felt. His first priority when they got home would be to bathe Kurt. "Your legs are incredibly weak. They're not used to holding you up and so they don't have the strength to. We'll work on that," he explained. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his mom nodding approvingly at his words.

Blaine moved to help a still shaking Kurt sit down on the seat in the car. His eyes fell to the boy's wrists as he managed to get him situated. Kurt had once more allowed his head to drop. Blaine had no doubt that he was maybe inwardly scolding himself and probably thinking that he would still be punished. Feeling his heart break for the millionth time that day, Blaine reached forward with his hands and began gently working at the knots in the rope.

Kurt stilled. He didn't move even in the slightest. Blaine wasn't sure whether it was because he was afraid Blaine intended to retie the rope tighter or because he was surprised the rope was being untied.

Whatever the case was, Blaine was suddenly grateful to his brief stint as a Boy Scout for making him an expert at knots because the way the rope had been tied was intricately ridiculous. It still took him all of five minutes to finally pull the rope completely free. He made a mental note to soothe Kurt's chaffed wrists with lotion later.

"There," he said, dropping the now free rope carelessly into the snow. He reached up and grabbed the seatbelt, being as gentle as he could pulling it across the slave's frail form and clicking it into place. "Now you'll be safe." Feeling just a little bit of relief, Blaine leant forward and pressed a kiss to Kurt's temple. The boy once more tensed up at the action and Blaine felt his heart break yet again. How could anyone treat someone so lowly?

A sigh left Blaine's mouth as he pulled back and moved to shut the door before pulling open the front seat passenger door and climbing in. Allison was already seated in the driver's seat. She offered her son a sympathetic look. One that seemed to say, _Don't worry Blaine, we'll fix everything, I promise._

And as they were pulling out of the parking lot, Blaine could only hope that they would. And one day, he was going to stop the black market permanently. He was sure of that.


	3. Don't Be Loud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more I want to thank you all for the incredible response to this fic. It really warms my heart to see you all enjoying it so much. Considering I'm personally not a big fan of angst, I'm glad I'm doing justice with it. I mostly like the fluffy stuff. :P But I'm a major fan of drama and I have been known to be a character masochist. But, it all works out in the end.
> 
> Two character introductions in this chapter! Also, a little bit more history on the black market slave trade. I say this chapter is a decent length. Thank you all for being so patient with me and glad to see you all so eager. I'll do my best to keep updating when I can.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

Blaine didn't have the slightest clue what to expect when they arrived home from the facility. Kurt had somehow maneuvered in the backseat so that when the curly haired boy opened the door, he found the slave in that same kneeling position he seemed to be accustomed to. A pang of heartbreak hit him in the chest.

He reached forward to release the seatbelt, not missing how Kurt's body completely tensed as Blaine guided his hands around the slave carefully to get to the release. Kurt's immediate reaction once the seatbelt was unfastened was to awkwardly crawl out of the car and land harshly in the snow on his knees. Blaine winced but Kurt didn't bat an eyelash.

Several things were traipsing through the sixteen year old's mind. He wanted so badly to help Kurt but he didn't even know where to start. His injuries needed tending to almost immediately. At the same time, he needed a bath. The dirt and grime matting his entire body could be causing infection in the open wounds marring the boy's pale skin. They needed to be washed out and cleaned efficiently. And then there was the question of clothes. It was quite obvious that Kurt was taller than Blaine, but with his lithe frame so frail he appeared to be no more than skin and bones, Blaine was willing to bet even his clothes would be hanging off him.

The skin and bones thing was another matter entirely. It was obvious that Kurt was vastly underfed and malnourished. Blaine would have to fix that. The problem was because he was so delicately frail, it would take a slow build up before he could properly ingest food. He wouldn't be able to even eat a salad. It would be too harsh on his stomach, which wasn't strong enough to digest heavier foods. So Blaine would have to fill him up with soup and saltines and ease into eating more variety.

This was especially concerning because it meant that until Kurt's stomach could handle more, the amount of fruits and vegetables he could be fed would be extremely limited. In fact, Blaine was sure his only option for fruit was probably stuff like applesauce. But he was sure even that might be a risk. He could salvage the vegetable issue by attempting vegetable soup or tomato soup. Though tomatoes were considered a fruit. Blaine ultimately decided he needed to consult with a doctor to figure out the best way to go about this.

It was then that it dawned on him just how difficult it might be to get Kurt in to see a physician. The majority of them wouldn't bother to look at slaves because slaves were not people and only people deserved medical treatment. Blaine wrinkled his nose in disgust at the very thought. For that matter, he might have better luck asking a veterinarian to look at him. But that was even more degrading.

"Something on your mind Blaine?" his mother asked, coming around to his side of the car where Blaine realized he was still standing. Kurt hadn't moved from where he had landed in the snow. He continued to kneel at Blaine's feet, head turned toward the ground.

Blaine sighed, shook his head, and ran a hand over his face. "I was just wondering how we'll convince a doctor to see him," he admitted. If Kurt had heard what he said, the slave gave no indication that he had done. He stayed stalk still in the snow, though it was becoming clear that the cold was getting to him if the way his body was emitting little trembles was anything to go by.

Allison put a hand on her son's shoulder. "Don't worry about that Blaine. Your father and I have already covered it," she told him, causing Blaine to look up at her with surprise. "We wanted to be prepared to give your slave a better life as soon as possible," she explained and the teenager was quite sure he had never loved his parents more.

"So what do you think we should do first?" Blaine asked next, hoping his mother had some semblance of where to start. If she and his father had been preparing for this, than surely she had a plan right?

Allison glanced down at where Kurt remained kneeling in the snow. Her nose wrinkled in slight disdain at the poor shape he was in. The grime from his body was somewhat washing into the snow where the ice melted around him with the presence of what little body heat he had. It was slowly turning the snow he sat in to muddy slush.

"I think we should bathe him first," she told Blaine, looking back at him. The boy nodded and moved to kneel down in front of the slave like he had back in the parking lot at the facility.

"Hey Kurt," he said softly. The boy did not respond. Blaine was sure he had heard him but he had hoped Kurt would have given the slightest indication of such. "Look at me please," he said, forcing down the sigh that had threatened to break from his mouth. Slowly, the slave shakily raised his head to bring those piercing blue eyes to Blaine's honey-hazel and the sixteen year old's heart clenched. "Would you like a bath?" he asked.

The reaction that came from Kurt then was not what Blaine had been expecting. His eyes went round as saucers and the fear was omnipresent in them. He weakly moved his arms to wrap protectively around his body, shaking more so than the few trembles of earlier. Blaine was worried about the added pressure Kurt was applying to both his injured arm and his delicate ribs. But when Kurt's head tore in the direction of the side of the house, Blaine became completely confused.

"No, no sir, please don't hose me!" Kurt cried out a moment later. For a second, Blaine didn't even understand what he was saying. But then his gaze followed Kurt's to the side of the house. He could just make out the nozzle for the garden hose sticking out from the wall and oh dear God.

"No," Blaine whispered as realization dawned on him. Apparently the cruel world's idea of bathing a slave meant turning on the garden hose at full blast and hosing them down roughly. The teenager had heard of the same technique being used to bathe prisoners in solitary confinement in some prisons. But the idea of a poor innocent and beautiful creature like Kurt having to endure such a thing was enough to make him almost break out in tears of sorrow.

It was at that very moment that Gregory opened the front door. Clearly, he had been watching from the window and wondering just why his wife and son had remained out in the cold by the car for so long.

"Is everything all right?" he asked as he approached his family. Kurt did not react well to the sound of a grown man's voice. His arms tightened around his body even more and the tension was popping a vein in his neck. Just in the way that it was standing out starkly against the rest of his body. His eyes squeezed shut and his hands began to flex open and closed, causing his uncut fingernails to dig fresh marks into his skin.

Blaine was quick to realize exactly what was happening. Though it pained him terribly, it became apparent that Kurt was afraid of his father. There was not a question of why in the teenager's mind. The boy had been subjected to countless middle aged men who only wanted him for a punching bag and sexual pleasure. Clearly, he was not in any state to be comfortable in Gregory's presence.

"Dad, you need to go back in the house," Blaine said quickly, eyes still on Kurt, debating whether he should attempt to stop Kurt from repeatedly scratching himself. Gregory had only to look down at the slave before he too caught on to exactly what was happening.

"Oh my dear God," he whispered, taking several steps backward toward the house but not leaving them entirely. The further he backed away, the more Kurt seemed to calm down a little. He had at least ceased scratching himself but the damage was done. There were now even more wounds prone to infection. Blaine knew they somehow needed to get him into a bath and quickly.

Standing slowly with a determined expression on his face, Blaine looked at his mother. "Go draw a hot bath," he told her. Allison nodded her head quickly. Blaine watched her hurry toward the house, grabbing her husband's arm as she went. Gregory was still in a state of awe as he realized just what Kurt probably thought he intended to do.

After they had gone, Blaine turned his eyes back on the boy in the snow. "Kurt, I am going to pick you up, okay?" Kurt tensed again slightly but didn't say anything. Instead, he managed a shaky nod. Blaine became aware that picking up the slave might have been a common practice, if only to throw him down harshly onto another surface. Not that he intended to do that. He never could. His heart ached so badly for this boy who was meant to be his soul mate.

Just that thought alone though, made a new ache bloom in his heart. He became aware that even though it was proven they were soul mates, Kurt was still utterly terrified of him. Blaine was not amused. Couldn't they at least teach the slaves they didn't have to be terrified of their soul mate? The one who was meant to love them unconditionally? But no. They couldn't. It wasn't uncommon for a slave's soul mate to treat them just like everyone else did. Blaine was utterly disgusted by the thought.

A new resolve filled him as he leaned down, tucking one arm behind Kurt's shoulders and slipping the other beneath his bent knees with a little difficulty.

The moment Blaine lifted the older boy up, he became painfully aware of just how light he really was and it made his heart break that much more. Why? Why did all these new discoveries make his heart break over and over again? Was there really no limit to heartbreak?

Kurt still had his arms wrapped awkwardly around himself, which made Blaine keeping him balanced in his arms a bit challenging. Even with the frail figure lying pressed to his chest, he could feel all the tension that reverberated through the slave's body. Getting Kurt to trust him was definitely not going to be very easy and Blaine knew that at times it might even seem hopeless. But he had to try. He had to convince Kurt that all he wanted to do was love him.

Blaine carried the frail boy into the house. Gregory was out of the way in the living room. He merely nodded to his son, not wanting to speak for fear of alerting Kurt that he was near. Blaine nodded back and proceeded up the stairs slowly and cautiously. He didn't want to drop the tense slave.

The walk from the car to the upstairs bathroom seemed to be the longest walk in his life. Countless thoughts traipsed through his mind. Fears that he hadn't considered yet. Like what if Kurt saw the tub full of water and freaked out that they were going to try and drown him or something? Blaine had heard stories about slaves being killed due to a drowning punishment. He didn't want to even think about someone doing that to Kurt.

The bathroom in the upstairs hall seemed to both draw ever closer and move further away as he walked toward it once he reached the top of the stairs. Kurt was still tense in his arms and he definitely did not like that. He wished the boy could just relax but he knew it wasn't that easy.

When Blaine finally entered the bathroom, he found the tub full of water, a fluffy white towel sitting on the toilet, and his mom had already vacated the room. He was grateful for that. Awkwardly, he pushed the door shut with his foot before moving toward the tub.

"Kurt," he said gently. The boy twitched, a sign that he had heard him. "I'm going to place you down in the bathtub, okay?" There was another twitch. Not the response he was exactly hoping for but also, not the response he'd been dreading. He deduced that Kurt had been lucky to never have to endure a drowning punishment. If he had, he would have been terrified of the bathtub. Instead, his only response was a twitch.

For a moment, Blaine considered stripping down to climb in there with him. He quickly discarded the idea. Kurt had been sexually abused by one master after another. The sight of Blaine naked might get him to react in a way that he thought Blaine meant to use him in that manner. Obedient as he apparently was, he probably would have gone right to attempting to please his master, even if it was something Kurt didn't want to do and Blaine couldn't have that. So he didn't dare get in with him.

However, as he moved to gently set Kurt in the bath, the slave finally moved more than to twitch. His arms unwrapped from around himself and his hands moved to dig into Blaine's back, the nails cutting painfully into his skin through the fabric of his winter coat and subsequent winter attire. He hadn't had the moment to relieve himself of his bundled winter clothes so he was still dressed as though he were going somewhere.

"Don't throw me down sir!" Kurt suddenly whined. "Please don't throw me down! I promise I'll be good! Will a blow job suffice?" Blaine blanched. Was Kurt really so afraid that he was going to set him down harshly that he was offering him oral sex in exchange for Blaine not to?

Just when he thought he had figured it all out, he learned something even more painful. This protest seemed to suggest that Kurt was treated gentler in exchange for sexual favors. The very thought disgusted Blaine.

"I would never throw you Kurt," he whispered in a broken voice and he paused for a moment, pulling the frightened boy closer to him and pressing a gentle kiss to his matted temple. Kurt stilled, apparently completely surprised by the loving gesture. "My poor baby," Blaine said, nuzzling him. He didn't even care that Kurt was still dirty and grimy and positively filthy with muck. He needed tenderness right now.

Kurt was rim rod still in his arms and Blaine wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or a bad one. Swallowing, he moved once more to gently lower Kurt into the water in the tub. A hiss left the boy's mouth as the hot water flowed over his cuts and open wounds. But that was his only reaction.

Once Blaine had him securely lying in the tub with his head resting comfortably on the bath pillow, he moved to take off his winter coat and scarf, setting both on the bathroom counter. In the time it took him to do that, the water had gone from clear to a muddy reddish-brown, mixing with the dirt and dried blood from the occupant just lying there. Blaine winced.

Kurt was lying tensely in the tub and as Blaine was grabbing a loofa to use to gently clean him up with, he made another realization. Due to Kurt's lack of strength in his legs, he wouldn't be able to stand up on his own to get out of the tub. Blaine was going to need assistance.

Sighing, he set the loofa down on the edge of the tub and went back to the door. Opening it a crack, he called out, "Hey mom, I'm going to need your help!" A whimper from the tub had him turning his head quickly. Kurt had rolled over and curled into a ball in the water and he was muttering rushed whimpered words.

"Please! I'm sorry master! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you yell!" That was all Blaine needed to hear to know what had happened. Kurt had mistaken his yelling for his mom as Blaine being angry with him. But what reason did Blaine have to be angry with him? It didn't matter, he realized. Kurt's past masters must have gotten angry at him for no reason at all.

Blaine returned to the tub's side just as Allison entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her. He reached out a hand and gently stroked Kurt's head. The boy was shaking so badly there appeared to be tidal waves in the bath water and some was sloshing over the side of the tub and onto the floor.

"Oh no Kurt," Blaine said softly, still attempting to stroke the boy's head. "I wasn't yelling at you. I was just calling for my mom sweetie." He wasn't sure where the sudden term of endearment had come from but it felt right. He turned and gave his mother a pained expression.

"I'm guessing it wouldn't be smart to yell around him," Allison said quietly and Blaine slowly nodded. "What did you need me for dear?" she asked then, picking up the fluffy towel and seating herself on the toilet.

Blaine opened his mouth to reply when loud shrieking came from downstairs. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY BLAINERS!" Instantly, Kurt started thrashing in the bathtub, whimpers turning into horrendous sobs, repetitive exclamations of apologies falling from his mouth. The murky reddish-brown water sloshed over the side of the tub in waves.

Before either of them could reconcile the situation, the bathroom was kicked open and two boys about Blaine's age bounded into the room.

"Nicky he wasn't taking a shower!" one of them whined.

"Damn!" the other replied. "And here I was so sure that we were finally going to see Blaine Warbler naked."

Though the two boys were grinning obsessively widely, Blaine was glaring in their direction while at the same time doing his best to attempt to calm down an increasingly distraught Kurt who had nearly soaked the bathroom with all the water in the tub by now. It worried Blaine that a boy so weak could have that much power when he was scared.

Allison stood from the toilet with her arms folded across her chest and gave the two boys a stern look. Instantly, the smiles dropped from their faces and they glanced at each other.

"Um, good day Mrs. Anderson," the blonde one said, attempting to appear innocent. The brunette had switched his attention to Blaine and whatever was thrashing in the tub.

"Don't you good day me Jeffrey Sterling," she scolded, causing the blonde boy to wince. Allison turned her head back toward her son who was making very little progress at trying to calm Kurt down. The only plus side was that there was now too little water in the tub to splash out anymore. "I was under the impression that Blaine told you what the plans were for today," she went on.

That seemed to get the attention of the brunette boy who had curiously been watching Blaine's attempts to handle whatever was in the tub. He couldn't exactly see Kurt.

"You mean you actually bought a slave?" the brunette asked in an astonished tone of voice. "I thought Blaine was joking. You guys are so against the slave trade," he added, looking at Blaine in confusion. To his credit, Blaine pointedly ignored him.

Allison raised an eyebrow and looked between the two boys and her son. "Blaine didn't tell you, did he?" she asked then. She wasn't angry at Blaine because few people ever chose to let people in fully when they had the mark of a slave on their wrist. She honestly would and wouldn't be surprised if Blaine had kept that information from his friends. Would because Blaine wasn't the type to keep things from people. He was always a very open and honest person. Wouldn't because even with his honesty, the fact that your soul mate was a slave in the black market wasn't exactly a tidbit you would casually toss around, even between friends.

"Tell us what?" the boy called Jeffrey asked, looking over toward Blaine. Allison followed the blonde's gaze and all three of them heard Blaine emit a defeated sigh.

Without looking up from Kurt who had finally progressed from thrashing around to curling into a tight ball and shaking badly, Blaine rolled up the sleeve on his right arm and held it up so the two boys could see his wrist.

Identical gasps filled the air and Jeff ran forward, grabbing Blaine's wrist in equal parts disbelief and wonder. "Nicky! Nicky look, he's got a soul mark!"

Nick didn't say anything. He was subconsciously rubbing at his own right wrist while staring at Jeff for a long while. There was something he knew that Jeff didn't know and perhaps never would know.

The truth was that Jeff was born a sex slave. But, he was born to one slave parent and one regular parent. This was considered a taboo in the world. For a normal person to either impregnate or get pregnant by a slave was harshly frowned upon. The children from those unions were often killed either before or at birth, regardless of whether they were a slave or not.

Long before the soul markings began to appear, slaves were identified by a small curvy black letter S etched over their heart. Like soul marks, they were born with this S. Slaves could result from two unions. Either both parents were slaves or one parent was a slave. But for a regular to parent a slave was seen as wrong.

Or at least it had been before the beginning of the soul mark era. The moment it was discovered that soul marked pairs consisted of one slave and one normal person, the idea of them having a child together became less and less of a wrong thing and more children of these pairings were going on to live lives.

But at the time of Jeff's birth, it was still considered a taboo and his mother, hadn't wanted a slave life for her only son. Jeff's father had cut a deal, involving a hefty sum of money. His soul mark as well as the slave mark, were each concealed with a skin graph so no one ever knew they were there. From then, he'd been raised like a normal child.

But Nick knew. Nick knew the truth. He knew the truth because he was born into a normal family. And like Blaine, he was born with a soul mark. A soul mark that read _Jeffrey Andrew Sterling_.

"Nicky?" Jeff's sudden concerned voice seemed to break Nick from his sudden daze.

"I'm sorry, what?" the brunette asked, looking back at Jeff, hoping he appeared confused. Blaine was ignoring both of them as he was now attempting to get Kurt out of the tub. His mom holding the towel to wrap the boy in.

"Are you okay?" Jeff asked softly.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine," Nick lied smoothly. Jeff looked unconvinced but decided to let it go. Someday. Someday Nick would tell him the truth.

Blaine had succeeded in getting a still terribly shaky Kurt out of the bathtub. He was holding him gently in his arms and Allison wrapped the towel around the frightened boy. Blaine's expression when he looked back at his friends was anything but friendly.

"You will do well to remember not to yell in this house," he said firmly. His eyes fixed on Nick and the brunette had a sudden dread that Blaine knew everything. "I want you both to leave. I have a lot to cover right now and your loud chaotic ways are not going to help me. They are just going to make matters worse. If you cause another reaction like that out of Kurt again, I will not hesitate to show you why I started the Dalton FC."

With those words, Blaine moved swiftly through the crowd in the bathroom, clutching Kurt to him like he was afraid he would float away. Jeff and Nick barging in had been a bit of a setback. Blaine was quite sure he had been making at least a small bit of progress. They would have to try a bath again later. Now though, he wanted to get Kurt warmed up and tucked into bed.

"I'm so sorry that happened Kurt," he said quietly, pressing another kiss to the boy's still matted hair. "They weren't even supposed to come by today. I specifically told them not to."

Kurt didn't say anything. He remained tensely rigid in Blaine's arms, his face full of fear and tear tracks cutting through the grime. Blaine wasn't sure how he was going to do it, but somehow, some way, he was going to make all this better.

He just had to take it one step at a time.


	4. Have To Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all applaud for me! I got both stories updated today and this one is apparently rather easy to write pretty long chapters for. There is some sort of desperate action here and we are moving locations. You'll see. In coming chapters, you will get a first hand look at some people with their cruelty to their slaves. Blaine obviously won't like but he's doing this for Kurt's safety as you'll understand after you finish this chapter.
> 
> I have introduced another element here so there is a major villainous issue and I am toying with the idea of some of the canon characters being all for the slave trade so don't be surprised if you see some of that in the future. *nods* I wish I had a way to reward myself for finishing this. It's so quiet in my house.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

The black market slave trade was a process. It was run quite diligently despite the fact that there were people in the world who did not approve of it. It had a system.

The problem with that system was that there were people in the world that did not agree with it. And not just those who were against the slave trade altogether. There were people who didn't tolerate the high prices because they greedily wanted a slave and could not afford one of their own. And the sex slaves, being in the highest demand of any kind of slave, also had the highest prices to pay. Thousands of dollars for one slave. Even paying a mere five grand was a real bargain for the sex slaves. Those prices were received for the slaves that were nearing aging limits and just about at the end of their rope. None of the others came cheap.

As for the rest of the market, it depended on the type of slave you were interested in but the prices usually did not top ten or fifteen grand. Both of those were considered on the steep end and they were the asking prices for the high quality slaves. Average prices ranged anywhere from as low as five hundred to as high as five thousand. So the price the Andersons had paid for Kurt at bargain was equal to the steepest price for other slaves.

But these greedy people who did not agree with the prices wouldn't even pay the cheap price of five hundred. Those were usually the low quality slaves that were almost done in and it wasn't really worth it.

So there were two kinds of people that were against the black market. Those who absolutely despised the slave trade like the Anderson family and those who despised the price system. It may seem a little silly to merely hate the slave trade for their prices but let's be real here, people in our day and age love money. And if they're going to hash it out for a slave, they want top quality and top quality does not come cheap.

It was this greed that formed a colony known as the gray market cart trade. They were not an official market given they illegally sold slaves for ridiculously high prices. Even higher than what the black market had set for their system. And they were called a cart trade because the people involved drove around in carts, the backs of which housed a number of slaves.

These carts were merely large metal cages. They were driven through the streets by a driver controlling horses pulling it along. The slaves inside the cages were harshly chained to the sides, fully on display.

And how did they get these slaves? They stole them. Members of the gray market cart trade were known for trundling through city streets, keeping their eyes peeled on residences that had a slave within their walls. And when they found one, they plotted, blueprinting the home, and planning the attack. Finally, they would break in and abduct the slave. It was a brutal procedure but they had spent so much time perfecting their actions they almost never failed at the abduction.

For this reason, even slaves with owners weren't particularly safe from the gray market cart traders. They never attempted to break into actual black market government facilities. They weren't stupid enough for that.

But the slaves they successfully abducted, endured even worse torture than they might in their owner's hands. They weren't fed anything more than three pieces of bread a day as long as they were with the cart trade. And maybe one small cup of water if they were lucky.

Each of them usually spent at least a few days on the cart. The traders had no desire to resell them anywhere near their original location. It made it more likely they would never be found.

The customers of the gray market cart trade were even shadier than those who went through the official route and bought from the black market. They were aware the slaves they were buying were being purchased illegally because they technically were already owned but they didn't give a damn.

Why is any of this information relevant? Because unfortunately for Kurt and Blaine, one of these traders had just turned his cart of slaves onto the Andersons' street when Blaine and Allison arrived home from purchasing Kurt. Pausing down the street to watch the scene, the trader was so captivated by the ethereal beauty of the slave that had emerged from the car that he just knew he had to have him. And little did our boys know, danger lurked around the near corner.

Of course, while the trader was drawing his plot and planning his break into the Anderson home, Blaine was upstairs attempting to give Kurt that bath, none the wiser. None of the Andersons were.

The one hope for Blaine and Kurt was that Nick, always the observant one, had noticed the cart on his and Jeff's way out of the house. Nick knew more about the gray market cart trade than he would like. Mostly because one of the house slaves in his home had been sold to them by a gray market trader.

Nick and his parents did not see eye to eye on the whole slave trade issue. Mr. and Mrs. Duval had been thrilled to learn that their son was born with the name of a sex slave on his wrist. But Nick, like Blaine, had never done more than despise the slave trade for as long as he could understand it all. This had driven a wedge between him and his parents and he spent as much time out of the house as he could, choosing to board at Dalton and going to Jeff's house on weekends and most holidays. The more he could avoid his parents the better.

He had also told himself that he could never introduce Jeff to them. They would know right away who he was and not only carelessly reveal to Jeff the truth that had long since been kept from him, but also throw a rage fit about the fact that he was being treated like a _human_. Nick was sure if this all came to a head, he'd be disowned.

That didn't mean that Jeff hadn't questioned about why Nick never took him to meet his parents. He had once. Nick had merely told him that his parents and him did not get on well at all and he really didn't want to subject Jeff to that. It wasn't really a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. Still, he hated having to tell him that. Jeff accepted it and didn't press the matter further. But Nick was still waiting for the day when he brought it up again.

That was the least of his worries right at the moment. He had to figure out what to do about the fact that the cart trader had obviously seen Kurt. He was going to have to warn Blaine. The problem was that he didn't think Blaine would want to talk to him right at the moment. So he did the only thing he was willing to attempt.

**From: Nick**

_I know you're angry right now Blaine, but I just saw something I think you need to know about. Can I please call you?_

Nick sighed and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He wasn't sure if he was going to be successful with this or not. Jeff was watching him out of the corner of his eye, concern clearly evident in his eyes. It was an agonizing thirty seconds before his phone buzzed in his pocket and Nick nearly dropped it in his haste to pull it out. The reply was from Blaine and it was a one-worded answer.

**To: Nick**

_Fine._

The rush of relief that filled Nick's body was enough to nearly cause his knees to buckle. He slammed his thumb down on the call button and brought the phone to his ear. Blaine answered on the first ring.

"This better be important Nick," he said in a voice that was both in a whisper and uncharacteristically harsh. Nick cringed. Blaine may be a good guy but he did have a temper when he got angry and man, he could really hold a grudge. The brunette had hoped to never be on the receiving end of that temper. His hopes had been dashed on that very day.

He tightened the grip he had on Jeff's hand as the two of them stood outside his car. "It is," he said, swallowing a lump that was forming in his throat. "Blaine—Blaine, I saw a cart watching the house when we left," he said. Jeff's eyes became round with fear and worry.

Blaine's change in demeanor was instantly noticeable. "You—you think they know we have Kurt?" he asked, voice still a whisper but now rather fearful instead of harsh. There was a rustling on his end of the line and Nick sucked his bottom lip into his mouth.

"I don't know Blaine," he said quietly. Because it was true. Nick had no way of knowing how long the cart had been there or if the driver had seen Kurt at all. "I just thought you deserved to know, so you can be ready for it," he added, eyes still glancing in the direction of the cart. He was sure that the driver hadn't noticed he had noticed him. Otherwise they would have hurried off by now.

"Right," Blaine replied nervously. "Right, thank you Nick." His anger had clearly evaporated, only to be replaced by the very strong fear for Kurt's safety.

Blaine didn't have a first hand account with the gray market like Nick did but he was well aware of what they did and what they were capable of. His parents had always wanted him to know everything so he knew the kind of stuff to expect, since he was going to be so involved with it, given his soul mark.

"Of course Blaine," Nick said. There was a heavy pause, a sort of silent good-bye because neither boy knew what else to say. They both ended the call at the same time. Nick got into the car, his fear for Blaine and Kurt escalating as he pulled away from the curb, eyes watching the cart get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror until it was out of sight altogether.

Upstairs in the Anderson residence, Blaine was seated beside a fitfully sleeping Kurt on his bed, hand clutching his phone so tightly, his knuckles were white.

His mother passed by the room in the hall, a bundle of wet towels from the bathroom in her arms. When she noticed the starkly pale look on her son's face, she poked her head into the room, immediately looking to Kurt but when she noticed it wasn't anything to do with the slave, her eyes fell to the phone Blaine was holding so tightly.

"Blaine?" she questioned.

The teenager startled out of his reverie, eyes turning from where they had been boring a hole in his bedroom to look over at his mother. He swallowed hard.

"Is everything all right?" Allison proceeded, eyes going back to Kurt. The slave was curled tightly into the fetal position and shaking uncontrollably. Blaine had tried to run a hand up and down his back soothingly but it had only made him more frightened.

Blaine shook his head. "No," he managed to get out. Allison moved more into the room and sat down on the bed. She would have placed a comforting hand on her son's leg but the wet towels were still in her arms.

"What's wrong sweetie?" she asked, looking at him with such concern Blaine thanked his lucky stars he had her for a mother.

"Nick called," he started, turning his eyes on the wall. Allison was a bit confused why the boy had called when he had only been there a few moments ago. Did he really miss Blaine that much that he had to apologize right away? "He said…" Blaine swallowed and drew a breath. "He said he saw a cart outside the house." His voice was so quiet Allison barely heard it. But she did.

The wet towels fell from her arms and she went as pale as her son was. She completely forgot about them as she jumped up from the bed, rushing out. Blaine knew what she was doing. She was running down the stairs to tell his father.

He watched her rush from the room, hand still clutching the phone. His head fell back against the headboard. No. This couldn't be happening. He had only just gotten Kurt that day. How had they seen him so easily? At most, he had maybe a couple of days to prepare for the attack. If the cart trader had indeed seen Kurt, he or she would take a few days to make a plan of attack. Blaine had to be ready for it.

The biggest issue was that they couldn't call the police. The authorities didn't care about any matters regarding the well being of a slave. They would do nothing about the cart trader outside the Anderson house. And alerting the black market would just put a target on his head to be dealt with. No, Blaine's safest bet was to handle this on his own.

It only took him a few moments to think of the safest course of action. He was going to have to return to Dalton. That very night.

Blaine boarded at Dalton during the weekdays and came home on the weekends. His birthday so happened to fall on a Saturday that year. Normally he returned Sunday night but he had no idea how soon the cart trader would make an attempt. From what he understood, Kurt was a very high demand slave. If the driver had seem him, they would want to act sooner than later.

That was another thing about the gray market cart traders. How soon they made an attempt at an abduction depended on how desperate they were to have the slave in question. Sex slaves usually pulled the quickest attacks. But Blaine also knew that they only made attempts on actual homes. If they found Kurt at Dalton, they wouldn't even try it. It was a heavily populated school that was not only heavily guarded but also always had people there at any given time.

Summer would be a risk because he would have to return home but he had a few months to figure out what to do then. For now, he could take Kurt back to Dalton.

Dalton did allow boys with slaves to keep them with them and Blaine cringed to think of how some of them openly treated their 'property'. But really, there was no law that said you had to treat your slave cruelly. It was just the natural way.

Blaine had already begun to pack his stuff up and some things for Kurt as well when his parents both entered the room.

"Blaine," Gregory spoke up. He watched his son packing his suitcase. "Blaine you can't just run," he said, clearly not understanding what the boy's intentions were.

"I'm not," Blaine replied, snapping his suitcase shut. He turned to look at his parents. "I'm going back to Dalton tonight. And I'm taking Kurt with me," he told them.

For a moment, his parents looked completely confused. They hadn't quite caught on to the realization Blaine himself had made to arrive at this decision. The sixteen year old moved forward and handed his suitcase to his father.

Sighing, he knew he would need to explain his decision. "Cart traders only attack actual homes," he started. "Kurt is a high demand sex slave. We'd be lucky if this one gave us two days before an attack. I'm not taking that risk," he explained. "I'm taking him to Dalton with me tonight. He'll be safe there, at least until summer. But we have a few months to figure out what to do then."

Allison and Gregory looked impressed. They knew their son was smart and they were so glad that he had more brains than his brother Cooper did.

"Brilliant son," Gregory said with a nod of his head. Blaine nodded his head. He stood and grabbed another winter coat and scarf from his closet, having left the others in the bathroom, meaning they were likely soaked from the tidal wave of a thrashing Kurt.

"Take my suitcase to the car. Mom will have to drive," Blaine said as he slipped the coat on and grabbed a blanket he had folded on a chair. Gregory knew what he meant. Blaine was worried about him being in close proximity to Kurt because Kurt was extremely uncomfortable in the older Anderson's presence.

Gregory spoke not a word but turned to leave the room, pulling Blaine's suitcase behind him. Allison watched her son tenderly and carefully wrap the blanket he had grabbed around the still shaking slave in the bed before she moved to leave the room as well.

"We're going to go somewhere safer for you Kurt," Blaine whispered to the slave as he gently scooped him up. Kurt's arms retreated to their usual position wrapped tightly around his torso and Blaine let out a sigh.

Slowly, the Anderson family made a slow trek out of the house. Blaine glanced around for signs of the cart but couldn't see any in the fading light. It didn't matter if the driver saw them and decided to follow, they would be heavily disappointed when they realized where the family was headed, especially if they noticed they were taking the slave with them.

Blaine quickly ceased his search and focused on where his mother had opened the backdoor of the car. His father had already put his suitcase in the trunk of the car and had retreated far enough away so that Kurt hopefully wouldn't notice him if he chose to open his eyes.

The teenager kept Kurt in his arms and carefully, but awkwardly climbed into the backseat with him. Allison raised an eyebrow at him in the rearview mirror from her place in the driver's seat. Blaine waited until he had buckled himself in and shut the door before he spoke.

"I need to stay with him," he said simply. Allison said nothing but nodded her head in reply. She started the car and pulled out of the Anderson driveway, moving out onto the street. Blaine focused his gaze on the window for a moment until they had moved some ways down the street. Then he switched his gaze to the rearview mirror.

Sure enough, a cart had trundled out of its hiding spot behind a tree a little ways down the street and was proceeding to follow the Anderson car.

Blaine couldn't help thinking that the driver was an idiot. A horse drawn cart was by no means fast enough to keep up with a car. But even if it was, it wouldn't try because cart traders only ever attacked the residence. So if anything, this trader merely wanted to know where they were transporting the slave. That was enough to tell Blaine they were desperate for Kurt. Whether or not they knew it was a sex slave they had their eye on, he didn't know but he did know that they weren't going to get him. Not now anyway.

A smile of triumph flickered onto the teenager's face as Allison pulled onto the highway. Following them on the highway was going to be a lot more difficult. Blaine did have to wonder if they were desperate enough to attempt it.

Cart traders didn't normally take the main highways. They stood out way too much. So they preferred to travel from place to place using all the back roads. Sure that meant it took them twice as long to get to new destinations but it kept them from being noticed by the wrong people.

To Blaine's annoyance though, it appeared this one was extremely desperate. Maybe they did know Kurt was a sex slave. Because despite their better judgment, they followed the Andersons onto the highway.

"The cart is still following us," he commented. Kurt must have been awake, despite the fact that his eyes were closed because the moment the words were out of Blaine's mouth, he tensed so harshly he was shaking severely in Blaine's arms, his own arms clutching tighter around his torso and his nails digging into his skin again, leaving fresh marks. Blaine felt at a loss for what to do. He held him gently and dropped a kiss to his forehead. "It's okay Kurt. I promise he won't get you."

Allison tutted her concern from the driver's seat, glancing at the rearview mirror to see her son was right. She had hoped pulling onto the highway would have shaken the trader. But no. He apparently was not going to just give up on Kurt.

Soft whimpers left Kurt's mouth as his nails dug in even harder and he continued to shake in Blaine's arms. Blaine's heart continued to break. He wondered how much slaves knew about the gray market threats. He figured that once he established some sort of trusting relationship with Kurt and Kurt was strong enough, he would ask him about it. But he was aware that was a long way off. He was pretty sure Kurt didn't even have the smallest shred of trust for him yet. It was going to be a long and painful road and Blaine knew at times he was going to be frustrated and probably feel like giving up but he knew he couldn't do that. He was going to make a good life for Kurt, no matter what it took.

It was at that very moment that Blaine decided he needed to start trying to locate Kurt's parents as soon as he possibly could. Even though Kurt had never seen them in his life, the sixteen year old had a strong feeling that maybe, just maybe, if he found Kurt's parents, that would be a step in the right direction, if only a small one. At least he would have his foot in the door.

"I'm going to try and find your parents Kurt," he said gently, using a hand to gently brush over the slave's chestnut hair. They would try a bath again in his private bathroom at Dalton. "I know you've never known them and you deserve to know them. All of you do," he went on.

It broke Blaine's heart even more that a slave child was taken a away from their parents immediately if they were born with a soul mark. There wasn't a single sex slave today that didn't have one. Kurt deserved to know the love of parents. Of course Blaine had no way of knowing if Kurt's parents would have been loving parents.

He also realized he didn't know where to start but then he spotted Kurt's file lying next to him. He'd forgotten he'd just casually laid it back there because he didn't think he had the stomach to read it. But if anything would have the information about his birth parents in it, the file probably would. It would be a starting point if nothing else. Surely there was a birth certificate in it because even slaves had birth certificates.

Blaine knew now that he had no choice. He was going to have to at the very least, skim Kurt's file.

And with the determination to start with that the next morning, he peered in the rearview mirror once again as they took the exit. The cart had somehow managed to follow them all this way and it was still trundling along. Damn. Where was rush hour traffic when you needed it?

It was only about another five minutes until they reached Dalton. Blaine knew that the cart would not follow passed the gate. He was pretty sure the driver would realize exactly where they were going in enough time to stop several feet from the gate. The cart wouldn't dare come anywhere near the school. Not with the heavy security and the vast population.

And as his eyes remained on the rearview mirror, he realized that he was right. The cart came to an abrupt stop a couple of blocks from the gate. Blaine didn't missed the sufficiently pissed off expression on the driver's face as he came to the realization that he was not going to get his hands on Kurt where he was going. A very uncharacteristic smug smirk wrote itself across Blaine's face.

It wasn't until they finally passed through the gate that Blaine whispered to Kurt, "We made it to safety Kurt. He can't get you here." Mission accomplished.


	5. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go guys! Updating this one first this time. I understand the concerns some of you seemed to have and I hope this chapter addresses some of them at least. As requested, it's written from Kurt's POV and does backtrack just slightly to give us what was going through his mind during the aftermath of the incident in the bathtub. So I hope you are happy with this chapter.
> 
> The next chapter will pick up the next morning and likely be back in Blaine's POV. For the most part, the majority of this story will be written from Blaine's POV. I will try to give you Kurt's POV from time to time so we can check in on how he's developing from his perspective.
> 
> And again, I just want to thank you all for the incredible response you've given me to this fic so far. So thank you from the bottom of my heart. I learned something about my own family today that only makes me want to increase Blaine's determination. So things might go bigger. I don't know yet.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

Disorientation was a normal side effect of certain things recurring from treatment of a slave. A state of little to no physical awareness while merely drawing one breath after another and staring but not seeing.

To say Kurt was disoriented might have been the wrong notion though. The trauma from the yelling had taken him back to curling into his mind's nightmares. Countless masters one after the other yelling orders. A whip lashing harshly across his pale bare skin. Teeth cutting into his thighs and buttocks. The hideous cracking sound as he was thrown against a wall. A master's heavy boot providing a strong enough pressure to damage his ribs. All this and still he never complained. Never gave them any reason to be worse than they already were.

After the yelling in the bathroom, Kurt curled in on himself. He could not register where he was. It was a proximity of first hard white bathtub followed by white towel and that was followed by fresh sheets on perhaps the most comfortable bed he had ever been lain upon.

But the horrors did not stop there. He registered the fabric beneath him, the sure presence of a mattress beneath his frail figure. On autopilot, so used to having to do this countless times, Kurt had forced himself onto his back and spread his legs obediently. He forced the tears not to come at the thought of the inevitable and he waited.

He waited for the familiar feeling of the heavy weight being carelessly dropped atop him. He waited and he waited and he waited but it never happened. It took Kurt some semblance of thought to realize that his master was not going to use him like he knew he meant to. And only then had he curled around himself again, tightly into a ball.

Even with his other senses knocked out and his mind flashing horrible images of his past behind his eyelids, his ears picked up everything. He heard his master seemingly on the phone. Heard the blankets on the bed rustle as his figure slid up the mattress. Tensed severely and shook as a hand was placed to his back. It was withdrawn.

Kurt had only to hear a few scattered words to realize what was going on. He'd seen the carts before. They'd gone trundling by in the streets outside the big mansions his previous masters lived in, all heavily gated, which was why none of them had ever found him before.

Kurt was a high quality sex slave. He never sold cheap. The black market wouldn't allow it. Even after he had been used so thoroughly he thought he could not be used anymore. So he was protected mostly by the kinds of people who were able to purchase him.

But his master now, his house was not a big mansion set several feet up a long drive behind a gate. His house was a normal two story suburban home on a quiet neighborhood street. Piece of cake for the cart traders.

He had been expecting a shrug of the shoulders, a slight notion of not minding that he could be taken. Truth be told, most owners did nothing when they learned that the cart traders had abducted their slave. The merely shrugged it off and went to buy a new one. The point was, slave owners didn't actually _care_ if the slave was abducted because slaves weren't humans. They were property.

But he was surprised again. A tone in the young teenage master's voice that if Kurt didn't know any better he would say sounded like concern, spoke words of getting out of there.

It was true. Because Kurt was a high demand sex slave, the cart trader would have made their plan as quickly as possible and in the blink of an eye, he would be gone. He would be gone and his master now would never see him again. Not that Kurt thought the boy would actually care. He didn't particularly seem to want to buy him in the first place.

The events that followed were a blur for him. He barely registered being carried to the car or that his master held him in his arms the entire way. The fact that the cart continued to follow them, even onto the highway where they clearly should have met the end of the chase, reverberated in his head a long with those same images and the sound of the whip still cracking against his skin. He shuddered just to think about it.

There was one thing said on that trip that Kurt had heard loud and clear and it stuck with him, stuck with him in a way that kind of put up a weak wall against the images fighting for dominance over his brain.

 _Parents_. This master wanted to attempt to find Kurt's parents. Kurt wasn't about to get his hopes up. First off, it could surely be a lie. He didn't trust his master at all. And in the past masters had bribed him with good rewards they had never fallen through on. But just, no one had ever said anything about his parents.

Kurt had never known them of course. Seventeen years of growing up in a facility that taught you how to pleasure your master and not a single word to him about his parents. He didn't know their names or if they had been slaves too. Or rather if both of them had been slaves too. He didn't know what they did for a living if they were allowed to make their own income. He knew absolutely nothing.

One thing that was never taken away from a sex slave's parents was their right to name their child. So that was probably the only thing Kurt knew about them. That they had given him his name. Honestly though, Kurt like many slaves, didn't even know why he had a name. Few people used it in reference to speaking to him. And he wasn't considered human so why?

The weak wall was short lived and he soon checked himself out of reality once more to the threatening images building in his mind's eye, playing on repeat. The most vivid the one of his previous master watching his own cock disappear into Kurt over and over again. His self awareness was at a level of zero. His body felt the blanket he was wrapped in currently but didn't register it.

Master was moving with him again. There was a folder on top of him, the file Kurt knew was his own. But still, all he could see was being forcefully pounded into. It was the only vision he was registering.

He opened his eyes, peering out of the smallest of slits, wondering if any semblance of the outside world might bring him from the pull of the horrifying images that had made everything a blur. He didn't know where he was or who he was with or why they had wrapped him in a blanket.

"Do you want me to call the doctor to notify her to see you here?" he heard the voice of the woman he recognized now as his master's mother say from slightly behind them.

The rustle of movement Kurt felt as he was shifted just a bit suggested master was turning his head. "No. I'll call her myself." Kurt didn't know what they meant. What was a doctor anyhow? He had never really gotten details on that word. "I want her to come tomorrow if she can. Tonight won't be an option, even though I would have liked it to be tonight." There was no denying the frustration in master's voice.

Kurt had to wonder what it was that was so urgent about this doctor. A cold still fear trilled through his bones. Was master meaning to pass him over to a female? Someone who the black market would not have sold him to directly? Inside that blanket, his arms wrapped tighter around his torso and a small whimper left his mouth.

"Don't worry Kurt," master said, obviously having heard him. What was it master wanted to be called again? Kurt strained his memory to remember. It probably went in one ear and out the other and that was not good because it was important to do everything master asked of him. "She's going to help you, I promise."

Kurt didn't have the slightest idea what he meant by help but it couldn't be anything good. He tried to remain still in master's arms but tightened his grip on himself.

A gust of air met them as Kurt barely registered the opening of a door and the three of them passed into a building. It was eerily echoey in this mass hall which he could barely see through his slits. He fought against the desire to shut his eyes again. He didn't want to see anymore of those terrible images that he saw every time he shut his eyes.

They walked. Kurt tightened his grip again. There were other people here and some, he could feel were boring their eyes into him, wrapped in the blanket. He must look quite unusual and he wondered if master would get ridiculed.

It seemed that wherever they were going, they might just make it there unscathed. That was until a voice caused master to halt.

"Nice property Anderson," ground out a smirky voice. Kurt's fingers flexed and he found himself gripping tightly to the blanket along with his torso. Master turned slowly and when he spoke, his own tone of voice matched that of the other.

"He's not property Godfried," master spit out. There was a chuckle and the sound of steps on a polished wooden floor. One thing Kurt hated, he could hear every distinct little sound. His hearing was that aware of the world around him.

"We'll see about that," said the first voice. "It shouldn't have this." Without warning, there was a tug on the blanket. It caused master to lose his gentle but firm grip on him and Kurt found himself falling to the floor. He let out a cry as he landed on his injured arm and suddenly, he was crowded over by a boy he didn't recognize. "Such pretty property Anderson. You don't mind if I take him for a night do you? No?" he went on without giving master a chance to respond. "Thanks, you're so generous. Come on slave!"

In the next instant, a hand wrapped forcefully around his wrist and Kurt was painfully yanked forward. He let out a yelp and the boy slapped him across the face.

"Shut up filth! I'm not hurting you!" the boy shouted.

Suddenly Kurt saw master step in front of them and narrow his own eyes to slits. "Let. Him. Go," master said darkly. But the boy seemed to be not afraid of him for he merely matched master's dark look.

"Or what? You know, it's rude not to share such good property Blaine," he replied. Blaine. That was it. That was what master wanted him to call him. Blaine.

Blaine grabbed a hold of the boy's hand and easily pulled it from Kurt's wrist and the slave felt really kind of impressed, but immediately moved to curl in on himself once more. Kurt was vulnerable and naked on a hardwood floor. Anyone could take him from here.

"I like to keep my property to myself," Kurt heard Blaine say and there was no mistaking the cringe around the word 'property' as though he hated saying the very word. "Besides, if anyone is going to have him first, it's me!" he ground out next and Kurt felt whatever tiny flicker that Blaine might be different go out. Of course he wasn't different. How could he have even entertained that idea?

The boy responded with such a loud laugh, Kurt was sure it would alert everyone in the building. "Right. Like a slave rights activist has the guts to fuck him. Whatever Anderson, I have a perfectly tight hole on the floor upstairs that actually looks forward to my big cock." With another laugh, the boy left, the sound of his footsteps clicking away on the wooden floor.

Out of the corner of his tiny slits, Kurt noticed all the fight going right out of Blaine and his expression turned particularly painful. He looked back at his mother whom Kurt hadn't realized had witnessed the entire scene and spoke softly to her.

"Can I wash my mouth out with soap after saying such hateful things?" Blaine asked her, an involuntary shudder rolling up his spine. Kurt switched his gaze to Allison.

Blaine's mother placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him with such sadness. "Oh Blaine," she said and it became clear to Kurt that she seemed broken but he didn't understand why.

Something struck him then, as he lay on the floor while for a moment, Blaine seemed to cry into his mother's shoulder. That boy, he'd called Blaine a slave rights activist. Could he have been telling the truth? Or was it just something he decided to say to try and provoke Kurt into being a slight bit hopeful so it could be shattered later when Blaine finally took what was rightfully his from him?

Kurt had heard of slave rights activists before. They were people who were against the slave trade and were continuously attempting to get it abolished. They'd had next to zero luck. But one of them would never buy a slave would they? Why would someone against slavery actually buy a slave? Even if they had no choice, like the government requirement that all soul marked normal people had to purchase their slave match at some time in their life. Kurt had to wonder what happened to those people whose soul marks did not match with the slave whose name was on their wrists, like the first boy who'd tried to buy him because of a soul mark.

He was brought from his musing by gentle hands on his body. He let out a startled yelp, having not expected it.

"Hey hey hey," came a soothing voice that belonged to Blaine. Kurt was already beginning to recognize his master's voice without looking at him. "It's okay Kurt," he went on. "I'm going to put some sweatpants on you, okay?"

Kurt blinked. What had he just said? He almost wondered if he had heard him right but the unmistakable fabric Blaine held in his hands proved that yes, he had heard him right. His master was going to allow him to wear clothes. This was new.

Never in his life had Kurt been allowed to wear anything more than a diaper. Until he was potty trained, he wore a diaper like any other baby and that was perhaps the only time of his life he was ever handled with care. But as soon as he was old enough to walk and use the bathroom and feed himself, he was no longer treated in a caring manner. Even the slave trade knew that babies couldn't take care of themselves.

The point was that Kurt had been naked since the moment he was potty trained. The closest he'd come to wearing anything was whenever he had to wear a collar. And he knew that Blaine was required to buy a collar.

He was so stunned by the situation that he didn't even notice when Blaine gently slid the sweats up over his legs and pulled them up to his waist, effectively covering his cock and ass and shielding his intimate parts from the chill in the air.

Kurt was aware that this place probably had heating but he was always cold. All he felt was cold. He didn't know what warm was. He wasn't sure he ever would. He still shivered despite himself.

It wasn't until he felt the waistband of the sweatpants at his waist that he realized just how skinny and frail he actually was. The waistband was small to begin with but it was clear that you could grab a fistful in the back, bunch it together, tie it off with a rubber band, and still have it be loose on him.

A small whimper left his throat at the sudden painful awareness that he really was just skin and bones and when Blaine saw just how loose on him these sweatpants were, he wanted to cry at the agony.

Kurt felt his stomach grumble then and Blaine turned back to look at his mother.

"I need to get food into him as soon as possible," Kurt heard him say. "But I can't take him into the dining hall. There will be more instances like Godfried and most of them won't give up as easily." Kurt felt his whole body begin to tremble. More people like that horrid boy who had just tried to drag him off and have his wicked way with him? Didn't Blaine say he would be safe here?

He heard Allison reply then. "Take him up to your room. I'll go to the dining hall and get you both food," she said. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Blaine flash his mother a grateful look.

In the next moment, the boy had easily lifted Kurt back up into his arms, wrapping the blanket back around him. Kurt could feel his injured arm throbbing from where he landed on it but he kept his mouth shut. He knew complaining about the pain would only get him in trouble. It always had in the past.

He felt the jogging movement of Blaine climbing a set of stairs and for a moment, Kurt wondered if there wasn't an elevator in this place. But they came to a sudden halt in the middle of the stairs for a reason Kurt wasn't sure because he had his eyes shut.

"Blaine, is that a slave?" The voice sounded completely surprised, like they had never expected his master to come back with a slave. Was it really that surprising?

Kurt heard Blaine sigh. "Yes Wes, he is. And before you even ask, he's my soul mate," he said and a weird knot of indescribable feelings found its way into the pit of Kurt's stomach. What were these strange feelings? He didn't know but they scared him half to death, but if he was being honest, just about everything scared him half to death.

"You have a soul mark?" the boy called Wes asked. He didn't need to question anymore why Blaine had bought a slave. He knew the law.

"I do. And I'm going to use it to give him a better life." Kurt felt Blaine's eyes on him and slowly opened his own to look back at the honey-hazel he was growing accustomed to already, even if he feared looking into them. There was a strange look in them. It wasn't like anything he had ever seen in his life.

"Is he…" Wes trailed off and pointed at the blanket. Master seemed to understand though because he shook his head.

"No. I put sweatpants on him for now," he replied. "But Wes, they're so big on him. He's so skinny, I'm so scared for him."

It was quiet as the two boys seemed to both be feeling distraught over Kurt's well being. To be honest, it kind of bothered Kurt. He shouldn't matter so much. He was just a slave. Why did they keep pretending to care?

"Come on," Wes finally said. "I'll give you an escort to your room."

There was movement again as Blaine started up the stairs once more, following the other boy. Kurt allowed his eyes to slide shut again. As long as he wasn't feeling threatened, than he saw no reason to keep his eyes watching Blaine or the other boy. But he still trusted neither, even if he hated closing his eyes.

Because once they had slid shut, he could see all the things again. But more firmly than ever, he could see his previous master fucking into him, Kurt letting out wails but not in a good way.

He remembered the time he had ever done anything bad. The time a worker at the facility had failed to locked his cubicle up properly. Kurt had been a curious young boy back then and he had snuck out, snuck out and explored the facility. It had been so easy because it was nighttime and the night watch barely came through to do checks. Why would they have to? All the slaves were supposed to be locked away.

Kurt had found a library of sorts. It wasn't stalk full of books but it certainly had more books than he had ever seen in his life. He remembered very vividly that the one book he had pulled from the shelf in curiosity had gone on and on about how sex was a sacred act and should only be performed with love. He remembered what a joke he'd thought that was. What kind of book had it been to say something like that when everyone in the world was well aware of the slave trade and soul mark movement?

He had only managed to just catch the title before he was found and cruelly dragged out. It had something to do with slave rights and even now, Kurt couldn't fathom why a book like that had been in a soul mark center of all places. He tried not to think about the punishment he had received.

The sound of a door being unlocked brought him back to himself and Kurt once more opened his eyes. Blaine was giving Wes his thanks and entering a room with him still held firmly in his arms. He walked over to a bed and laid Kurt upon it before returning to the door. Kurt tuned out their words as he once more curled up into a ball and closed his eyes, shivering from both fear and cold.

The door was shut and Blaine came over, carefully sitting beside Kurt on the bed. "Everything's going to be fine, I promise," he said. Kurt wanted so badly to turn and look at him and tell him directly to his face not to make promises he couldn't keep, but he knew such a thing would earn him a punishment. So instead, he bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood.

He heard Blaine moving around slightly and he curled tighter around himself, again expecting the inevitable. But again, it didn't come and the next time he heard Blaine's voice, he appeared to be on the phone once again.

"Hi, Dr. Olsson?" Blaine was saying. "This is Blaine Anderson. My parents contacted you about seeing to the well being of a slave?" he went on, posing the statement as a question. Kurt could only hear Blaine's side of the conversation. "Yes, yes," he went on and then he laughed lightly. "Well, if I had my way, I'd ask you to see him tonight. It's really bad Dr. Olsson. He has cracked ribs that are making it difficult for him to breathe." As if punctuating his point, Kurt wheezed heavily. He never really noticed when he had these issues. "I think his arm may be broken or at least sprained," Blaine went on. "The right one." He paused to listen to what the doctor was saying. "Uh huh. Right. He may have suffered a recent head injury and there are cuts and bruises all over him. I have no doubt his anus has been torn more than once."

Listening to his master's side of the conversation was kind of painful and the words about his anus had him reaching a hand into the loose sweatpants to brush his fingers over his hole. There were tears there all right, both heeled and fresh. No one ever cared to stretch him and he was quite sure his hole was likely oozing with infection too. It burned constantly now that he thought about it but he would never say that.

He did have to wonder why Blaine was telling this woman, this Dr. Olsson about all his injuries. Why should she care? Why should Blaine care?

"Do you think you can come tomorrow?" he heard Blaine ask next. "Dalton Academy." There was another pause and Kurt heard Blaine sigh. "I would have remained at home with him but my friend Nick was by and he noticed a cart trader so…" he trailed off and Kurt was sure the doctor could finish the thought on her own. "Great. I'm going to look through his file first thing tomorrow morning." Kurt could hear the cringe in his voice and it was clear Blaine didn't want to look at it. "Mostly for information on his parents. I want to try and find them."

Kurt tensed at those repetitive words. Did it mean something that he was telling someone else he planned to try and look for Kurt's parents? Maybe it did but Kurt knew better not to get his hopes up. He curled in tighter to himself.

"Okay, I'll see you at two tomorrow?" Blaine questioned. "Thank you Dr. Olsson. I really appreciate it. Good-bye." There was a slight bounce indicating that Blaine must have tossed the phone onto the bed. "Okay Kurt, the doctor's going to see you tomorrow. One step closer to getting you better," Kurt heard him say. Better, what was better?

There was a knock at the door then and Kurt felt Blaine get up from the bed. He curled in tighter not sure what to make of the fact that Blaine had this doctor, whatever she was, coming to see him the next day. He opened his eyes just barely and could make out his file on the nightstand. Blaine was going to look at it tomorrow. He was going to see just how worthless Kurt really was and then, the seemingly nice act was going to drop.

"Okay Kurt, let's get some food into you."

Oh. Food.


	6. The File

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this one is a little but shorter than the last two or three as it doesn't quite reach 4000 words. And I know I said to expect the doctor's visit here but it's not in this chapter so it will likely be in the next one. Here we cover dinner and Blaine starts to read Kurt's file and makes some discoveries. There is a bit of serious content brought up at the end so warning for that. I know this story as a whole is dark but this isn't something I've already brought up yet.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued devotion. It means the world to me. Good news, though I have other commitments going on, updates for this story will soon be my first priority. I only have the epilogue left to write for One Of The Same and then my focus on my fan fics will switch to this one solely for now. Until I come up with something new which I warn you is likely to happen. Because when I get an idea, it won't shut up until I write some of it down.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this chapter will tide you over until the next update, which should come sometime after the epilogue I need to write.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

There is a fine line that tells just where the balance rests for certain things. What exactly a slave can eat is one of them. Most people didn't give a damn about how the food would effect the slave's stomach. It was either they eat what they're given or they don't eat at all. If they threw it up later, who the hell cared?

But Blaine did care. He needed to build up Kurt's stomach and digestive system so he could eat more properly without it having such a horrid effect on him. That was why he was grateful when his mother brought him a tray with not one, but two bowls of soup on it. One was vegetable and the other was just a simple more like flavored chicken broth with mellow noodles. It wasn't as heavy. Blaine figured the chicken one was for Kurt. He was glad his mom had taken into account what the slave might be able to keep down. The bowls were accompanied by two bottles of water.

Blaine thanked his mother and would have hugged her good-bye but he had his hands full with the tray. He walked over to his desk to deposit it before moving to shut the door again.

Kurt was still curled in on himself on the bed but he was watching Blaine with wide eyes. Blaine wondered what he might be thinking. Did he maybe think…

"I-is that for me?" the voice was incredibly small, weak, and rather tiny sounding but the words were no clearer than any others he had heard Kurt say before. The slave seemed to be hesitant about speaking at all most of the time. Blaine smiled softly at him. "Sir," Kurt added suddenly.

With a painful look because he couldn't stand the fact that Kurt still seemed to think he needed to refer to Blaine that way, the sixteen year old crossed to the bed and knelt on the floor. Very slowly, he reached out a hand and took a hold of one of Kurt's, holding it loosely so that he could withdraw it if he so wanted.

"One of them is," he said gently, rubbing his thumb experimentally over the back of Kurt's hand when the slave surprisingly did not pull his hand away from Blaine's grip. "The other one is for me," he admitted.

Kurt was staring at where Blaine's thumb was rubbing over his knuckles in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture but he didn't know. Kurt didn't know what comfort was. And yet, here he was, lying curled up on Blaine's dormitory bed, blanket wrapped around him and Blaine's sweatpants barely clinging to his hips.

Though the very thought of everything the slave had been through was so completely painful for Blaine to even so much as consider, looking at him now, even with his stick thin figure and bruises and cuts and dirt, the teenager didn't think he'd ever seen anyone more beautiful in his life before. Was that the magic of their soul connection? Was something like that really strong enough to get a person to look straight pass the imperfections and just see the beauty within the person or thing they were looking at? He believed it had to be.

But if that was so true, why was it so many other soul marked people treated their slave soul mates the same way they would treat any slave? People were a very confusing thing in this world. Perhaps the most confusing thing yet. Maybe it was something he would just never understand no matter how hard he tried.

When he was younger, Blaine used to dream of a place, of a sort of utopia full of people who felt the same way about the slave trade as he did. But as he grew older, he became aware that such a place didn't and may never exist.

That didn't mean that he couldn't make a difference. Even if he only ever just helped Kurt, that would make a huge difference, at least for him. Because he'd have the boy he was meant to love and said boy would be safe and happy and not so scared anymore. And if Blaine was honest with himself, there would be no greater reward than to see Kurt happy and healthy. That was his goal.

Of course, the sixteen year old didn't know then the impact his helping Kurt would have on the slave himself in the future. In the future, he would be prouder of him than he ever thought he could be. But that was the future and Blaine's thoughts never strayed that far. He would rather concentrate on the here and now. And right now, he needed to get food into the frail boy.

Smiling softly, Blaine slowly brought Kurt's hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it before he let it go and stood up, moving back to the tray, where he picked up the chicken broth and a spoon.

As soon as Kurt caught on to what was going on, he forced his frail body up into a kneeling position on the bed, keeping his head down but his back straight as a board. Blaine frowned.

"Kurt, why do you sit like that?" he asked as he came and once more sat down beside the bed. The slave slowly lifted his head, being cautious as if he thought that Blaine would scold him for looking at him. "You can look at me whenever you want to you know," Blaine told him.

The tinged pink of color that flashed across the other boy's pale face came as a surprise. Blaine hadn't known it was possible for a slave, particularly a sex slave, to blush at all. But there it was, plain as the light of day and it gave the curly haired boy a small feeling of triumph, like he had accomplished something.

"It's the obedient position of respect master," Kurt replied in that same small voice. If he wasn't seeming to relax in knowing that he would be taken care of, he was at least starting to find his usual niche as an obedient slave. Responding quicker to what he felt were orders. It was progress, if not the kind Blaine was hoping for.

The sixteen year old frowned and set the bowl down beside him. He locked his eyes on Kurt's hoping it would help to get his next point across. "Kurt, I want you to know that in my care, you are not a slave. You are my equal and I am going to work tooth and nail to make you strong and healthy and happy because as your soul mate, that's what I want for you."

Kurt just stared at him, as though he were looking but not seeing. Blaine let out a sigh. He wondered how long it would be before Kurt would even start to believe him. Whatever the matter, he had to keep reminding him of that.

The thing was, Blaine was quite sure that Kurt had never heard anyone call him an equal. Well, there was a first time for everything.

Instead of saying anything more on the matter, he picked up the bowl and spoon and dipped the utensil into it before holding it out to Kurt. "Come on then, let's get some food into you."

And the barest of smiles crossed his face as Kurt shakily leant forward to take the spoon into his mouth as Blaine fed him the bite. Progress.

Of course, a number of hours later did nothing to cement that progress. Kurt had taken to the chicken broth and noodle soup so well that Blaine thought he could chance giving him a small bite of his vegetable soup. Bad idea. Not fifteen minutes later, Kurt had vomited the contents of his dinner all over the dormitory floor. Blaine felt horrible. If even just a small bite of something a little more solid did that, how long would it be before he could handle it?

So Blaine found himself wide awake in the middle of the night, the lingering smell of disinfectant permeated the air after he'd spent at least an hour thoroughly cleaning and disinfecting the mess. The action itself had caused Kurt to retreat into his shell and return to holding himself around his torso while spewing whining apologies. He was now still shaking madly as though he kept expecting punishment even though Blaine had reassured him over and over it was all right and he did nothing wrong.

Realizing he wasn't going to get any sleep, the sixteen year old glanced over at the tight shaking ball on the bed that was Kurt. He sighed softly, wanting to desperately run his hand through the other boy's hair. He was so terrified and just seemed so hopeless and Blaine felt guilty. He had only been hoping to give Kurt a tiny bit more sustenance to his diet. It was a tiny bit too much.

It dawned on him that if he was going to do this and make Kurt better, he was going to have to know all the reasons to why he was this way. He got up from where he'd been lying in a bundle of blankets on the floor because he didn't expect Kurt to be okay with him sharing the bed. He grabbed the file from his nightstand and tiptoed over to his desk, quietly pulling out the chair and switching the desk lamp on. He didn't know if Kurt was sleeping but if he was, he didn't want to disturb him. He needed his sleep.

Drawing a deep breath, Blaine flipped open the folder and mentally prepared himself for what he was about to find.

To his surprise, as vague of a birth certificate as the first piece of paper in there seemed to be, it also told him exactly what he had hoped to find in the file.

 **NAME:** Kurt Elizabeth Hummel

 **GENDER:** Male

 **DOB:** May 27, 1993

 **MOTHER:** Elizabeth (Stevenson) Hummel

 **FATHER:** Burt Hummel

 **STATUS:** Sex Slave

 **SOUL MARK:** Blaine Devon Anderson

That was it. There was no name of attending physician or a signature from a doctor or even the hospital he was born at or city he was born in. So though Blaine didn't have a locale to start his search from, he could at the very least run a search on the names of Kurt's parents. That was the most crucial information the boy had learned and he had barely opened the file.

Setting Kurt's file aside, Blaine pulled his laptop toward him and powered it on. A google search for the boy's parents couldn't hurt right? He opened a browser window and typed the address for google into the address bar.

His fingers lingered over the keyboard for a moment before he placed the cursor in the search bar when the page had loaded and carefully typed in _Elizabeth Hummel_ and hit go.

Blaine felt his heart drop as the search results loaded and right at the top was a link to an obituary. Dead. Kurt's mother was dead. The boy licked his lips slowly, staring at the result for a full five minutes. He didn't dare turn to glance at Kurt. He felt like in a way he had just half failed him. It wasn't his fault Kurt's mother was dead but the fact that Kurt would never get to know her, it broke his heart that much more.

Hesitantly, Blaine clicked on the obituary. It loaded quickly and he stared at it for a moment. The accompanying picture bore an uncanny resemblance to the boy on the bed. Blaine forced himself to read the obituary. Nine years. Elizabeth had been dead for nine years according to the date of death. She'd been a household chore slave. At least at the end, it said that she was survived by her husband Burt Hummel. So unless he had passed too in the nine years since, he was still living.

But the saddest thing was that the obituary said nothing about Kurt. It was a big enough deal that she had one. There was less space for a slave to have an obituary in the paper and the only people who would ever consider writing one for them would be other slaves. It wasn't uncommon to find one that did not mention the slave's children if they had any. The law forbade mention of any child born a sex slave. Burt, or whoever had written the obituary would have gotten in major trouble just for one insertion of Kurt's name. It was a sad fact but it was true.

Just like sex slaves were never to know their parents, their parents were told to forget they ever had a child to begin with. They were in custody of the government from day one and parents would be lucky if both they and their child lived long enough to reach the point where they all had been granted their freedom. Then, and only then, would they be allowed to be a family. Those few who made it there, didn't get that luxury for long.

Blaine felt his eyes begin to well with tears and he couldn't bring himself to search Burt's name just yet. He shut his laptop and turned back to the file. He was going to have to concentrate on that for now. When he was calmer, he would conduct a search for Burt. He hoped that the man was still alive. Kurt would benefit from at least having one parent.

The law may have designated that sex slaves could not search for their parents until after they were freed and their parents could not search for them until the same point, but there was a loophole. There was a loophole in the fact that the law did not designate a specific guideline in how a master treated their slave. What they decided to do for, or with them was up to their discretion. And this meant, if Blaine wanted to reunite Kurt with his father, there was nothing the law could do about it because it wasn't Kurt or Burt making the effort.

All laws seemed to have some kind of loophole. Maybe if Blaine dissected them, he might be able to find a way around some of them. But that was another matter entirely.

Pulling the file back toward him, Blaine drew another breath and flipped the vague birth certificate over.

_Slave is of outstanding ethereal beauty. All his parts are intact. He has two full and healthy testicles with a well above average sperm count. Likely able to impregnate any female wishing to get pregnant._

Blaine had to look away in disgust for a moment. Why the hell did it matter if Kurt's baby gravy was good? He wasn't going to be fucking any females and they knew that from the day he was born. It didn't make sense that whether he could make babies successfully should matter.

Of course there were those instances where if the offered payment was high enough, the black market would sell a sex slave who had a male's name on their wrist to a woman despite their own set guidelines. If anyone was allowed to break the rules it was the people who made them. Blaine felt slightly sick. He kept reading anyway.

_Cock is a good nine and half inches soft, reaching near eleven erect._

He paused again and just stared at the bit of information, whipping his head around to look over at the boy on the bed. Blaine had made it a point not to let his eyes fall below Kurt's waist and he had been very good at keeping it. But learning Kurt's size did make him the slightest bit nervous. He was big, that was for sure. He swallowed heavily. He knew a male sex slave's size played a big part in getting them sold. No wonder why Kurt had so many past owners. He suspected most of the file was information on those. He wasn't looking forward to reading any of it.

_Anal entrance pliant, muscles tight, will stretch deliciously. Hole naturally expands and gaps around, trying to grasp at a forbidden object. This pulls the conclusion that this sex slave shall be the designated bottom when mating with a male master. Penetrating him would only increase the pleasure because it will persistently be a snug tight fit._

Blaine felt sick again. He thought they didn't penetrate the slave's before they had their first master. But this document was indicating that Kurt had been penetrated with something beforehand. The sixteen year old wasn't quite so sure he wanted to know what.

Though he had a feeling it might have been the phalus. Now that he thought about it, the lady at the center had told him they made the male slaves wear decorative phaluses when they were taken to auction. It was probably how they tested how well Kurt's hole took to the phalus in his initial exam.

_He's got a good set of lungs. This one shall be a very pliant screamer. His skin being so creamily pale will be the perfect backdrop for the marks he will receive. He's a beautiful canvas at disposal. I suggest whipping would look exceptionally beautiful, the stark red of a whipping lash against the white pale skin of the beauty. Makes me horny just to think about it._

_Overall sex slave rating as given by the expert: 100/100. Fuck him raw boys._

Blaine shook his head. This was sick. The page was signed by the supposed expert. He couldn't believe this man was putting his fingers on Kurt's most intimate parts, not to mention was horny at the thought of hurting him. And making suggestions for how to mark him. No wonder Kurt had so many marks all over his body.

He couldn't bear to read anymore right then, so he shut the file and pushed it away. He was going go have to read through the reports of his past owners he knew, but he could do that in the morning. If he read anymore now, he was going to find himself vomiting just like Kurt had done hours ago.

Kurt. Blaine turned once more to look over at him. He was still shaking and he wondered if maybe he might be having nightmares. He couldn't be sure because Kurt shook a lot when he curled in on himself like he was now and that position couldn't be too comfortable.

He couldn't even begin to figure out exactly what had been going through Kurt's mind during that examination outlined in that page he had just read. Of course with a sex slave, the only thing they cared about was whether their intimate parts were in good shape. But if that was so true, why didn't they bother to tend to anal tears and the threat of infection? Or regularly test them for STDs?

Blaine blanched. STDs. He was going to have to ask Dr. Olsson to screen Kurt for them. The fear that one of his past owners may have given him a serious disease was a big one.

He was well aware that few people were considerate enough to use protection on a slave. And some of them owned more than one. They could get the disease from another slave who may have had it passed to them from a former owner and the chain could go on and on and on.

Reportedly, a large number of sex slave deaths were due to STDs, the biggest portion of those, HIV. Sex slaves who contracted the HIV virus were usually dead in a fairly short period of time. This was due to them first not being diagnosed - because no cared to test them - and secondly, not receiving the proper treatment. And without a positive diagnosis, they were unknowingly spreading the fatal disease to even more of the population.

Just as this realization washed over him, Blaine felt his bottle finally break. The tears began to flow as he looked toward Kurt. The very thought that he may have an STD, particularly the HIV virus made it too much for him to handle. He slid off his chair and sunk to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself because no. No his beautiful Kurt couldn't have that.

"Bl-Blaine?" croaked a voice in the darkened room and Blaine was stunned as he looked up to find a pair of piercing blue eyes watching him in the darkness.

On instinct, Blaine rushed forward and cupped the boy's face in his hands. Kurt startled but surprisingly didn't try to move away. For the first time since Blaine had rescued him, he bravely looked him in the eyes without being asked to.

"Kurt," Blaine choked out. "Kurt, I—I want you to know that no matter what, I'm going to love you. You're my soul mate and you're perfect and wonderful and amazing and I know that sounds crazy because we've barely known each other a day but it's true and I can't…" He trailed off and swallowed hard, voice choking out a sob.

One of Kurt's hands shakily came up and laid itself over one of Blaine's and the curly haired boy gasped slightly. Kurt was taking risks he didn't expect. Progress.

"You can't what Blaine?" Kurt got out shakily, still looking him directly in the eyes.

"I can't bear the thought of losing you," Blaine said in a whisper. He wanted so badly to press his lips to Kurt's in a slow sweet kiss but at this point he was sure the action would derail whatever little progress Kurt was making and take them back several steps. So instead, he sucked in his bottom lip and held it there.

Kurt's eyes widened slightly. "Why would you lose me Blaine?" And though the sixteen year old was sure he had tried to refrain from showing it, Blaine was sure he heard fear in Kurt's voice. Fear in that he might have thought that Blaine would consider getting rid of him.

Blaine allowed his thumbs to gently caress the slave's cheeks. "Because what if you have HIV Kurt? That can be slowed down but it can't be stopped," he said. He knew he was going to make sure the doctor covered all this because he was terrified. If Kurt did have HIV he was going to do whatever possible to keep him alive as long as he possibly could but the idea was still scary. "Or any other serious STD?" he added. Yes, he was terrified of them all but none more so than that one.

The other boy just looked at him for several moments and Blaine tried to gauge his reaction but wasn't very good at reading him yet. And when he spoke, Blaine's world crashed to a sudden halt.

"What's HIV?"


	7. The First Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally, I was hoping to get this done yesterday but I was made to socialize by family. It wasn't important to them if I got my chapter out to you readers. So production on this chapter was delayed. I just finished it now.
> 
> A few words about this chapter as I've made a few decisions regarding this fic. The first has to do with this chapter. Again, no doctor's visit yet. In fact, there is no Blaine in this chapter. This chapter is out of Kurt's past. I thought it would be interesting to every so often write a chapter from his past years about some of the things he had to endure so we're not just getting Blaine reading about the masters in the file. A lot of people are asking for things from Kurt's POV and while I do not want to rewrite a bunch of chapters from each of their POVs, I do want to give more from Kurt. So this will be I feel a better way to show some of how Kurt got to the point he is at now. This chapter is the first of these chapters.
> 
> The second decision I made is that because the healing process for Kurt will likely be continuous no matter how better he gets, I feel that this fic would suffice best as part of a series so it will be the first in a series and there will be more to follow, highlighting different points in their lives together and maybe digging more into Kurt's history at different times. So I hope the fact that it will be a series makes you all who want more chapters feel a bit better about whether this story comes out shorter than you hoped. This fic is likely going to be an introduction to their lives together and we will progress from there.
> 
> Finally, once more thank you for all your kind words and devotion. It means a lot to me.
> 
> Warning, there is non-con in this chapter. Or the beginning of it. And also, I'm terrible at writing anything sexual other than gay sex - weird I know - so I apologize if stuff in this chapter isn't very good.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

**Kurt, Age 13**

Auction day.

Kurt had been dreading this day since the moment he had started his sex slave training three years earlier. The first time they put him up for auction. The first time a slave was deemed skilled enough to be sold to their first master.

The scrubbing in the shine room had been painful. They used a particularly hard bristled brush to practically scrub his skin raw. His whole body was stark pink. And to add to it, they coated him in some kind of oil, roughly handling his member, which jumped to attention at the touch and Kurt was relieved that his face was already pink because it hid the blush that bloomed on his cheeks. He would have been punished for that.

But the scrub down and shine that left him with a thoroughly hard and flush pink cock - a shameful feeling to the young thirteen year old who was barely entering adolescence - was not the worst part of the auction prep.

After scrubbing and coating him with oil, Kurt was moved on to a man who grabbed him roughly and snapped a collar around his neck. It was tight enough to just slightly restrict his airway and make it difficult to breathe but he wasn't surprised. A sex slave's breathing was not to be heard unless it was during sex. He swallowed, hoping the action might press back against the collar just a little and loosen it a touch. It didn't work.

But all thoughts of the collar around his neck flew out the window as soon as the man grabbed an object that looked something like a vibrator sprouting hair at the end, reminiscent of a horse's tail, and shoved it carelessly right up Kurt's rectum. The boy let out a loud squeak, earning him a harsh slap across his face that jerked his head to the left.

"Shut up slave!" the man ground out. Kurt bit down hard on his lip to keep from replying with a whimper. That was only likely to earn him another slap across the face. The man sniggered and trailed his beefy fingers down Kurt's oil coated body. "Such a pretty thing. Buy yeh m'self if I could afford yeh." His hand moved down and gave a hard twisting tug upstroke on Kurt's cock, which only caused the thirteen year old to bite down on his lip even harder.

A slap on his ass was the instruction to go and he hobbled awkwardly to the rolling cart where several other male slaves were already kneeling obediently. The phalus in his ass was extremely uncomfortable and Kurt could feel the hair from the tail continuously brushing the backs of his naked thighs as he walked. He could feel the painful stretch where his ass had been forced to accommodate the still somewhat foreign object.

Kurt shakily moved into place kneeling beside the other slaves and dropping his head obediently to stare at the ground, but not before he glanced across the room to where another cart sat with female slaves aboard. He recognized one. A thirteen year old girl who had been in his training classes. The look in her dark eyes was positively fiery. The nipples on the just forming buds of breasts on her body were decorated with hanging tassels, much the same way the phalus had been shoved into Kurt's ass.

He quickly dropped his gaze to the ground, not wanting to be caught making eye contact with her, even if she didn't care. Truth be told, Kurt was terrified. And not even Santana Lopez could convince him to be anything but obedient today. He hadn't known then that after today, he wasn't going to see her again.

Kurt kept his head down as the carts were wheeled out onto a stage in the auction hall. The room was full of people already. He could tell by the bustling of the noise. He knew it would be a while before he was out on the block. At auctions, the officials always saved the newest merchandise for last. It would pull the highest bid.

So it came as no surprise to him when he and Santana were suddenly the last ones left. And the auctioneer was going by ladies first. Two men grabbed Santana forcefully by the arms and dragged her to the block beside the podium. They forced her to kneel there and pulled back on her black hair so her head was turned up sharply, forced to look at the audience.

"This is Santana Diabla Lopez," said the auctioneer. "At thirteen she is fresh off her sex slave training and a prime piece of merchandise. This is her first auction folks. She has not had a mistress yet." He winked around at everyone and Kurt could already hear the similar words that would befall the crowd when it was his turn. "Yes, Santana is only available to women as the name on her wrist designates a female. Her darker skin is evidence of her Latin heritage, coupled with dark hair and eyes. She is unique here in our facility. The bidding will start at twenty thousand dollars."

Kurt cringed as people's paddles started to go up. He was surprised the auctioneer was starting Santana's bidding price so low for brand new and unique merchandise but he quickly learned the lower you started the price the higher the bidding was willing to go. She had reached fifty thousand dollars in a matter of minutes until…

"One hundred thousand dollars," called a woman's voice from the back. Kurt lifted his head slightly to see a tall blonde woman probably in her late thirties, making hard eyes on the audience as though she were daring them to bid higher than she did. His eyes just caught sight of the young girl standing beside her before he felt someone shove his head back down.

He wondered why that woman was so determined to have Santana. He had never fathomed anyone would pay that much for a slave because they had that much desperation.

And there was the girl that had been with her. It wasn't against the law to bring children along to a slave auction but there were specific requirements, particularly when it was a sex slave auction. The rules seemed to be harsher in light of that. Just as a sex slave could not be auctioned off until the age of thirteen, no children under the same age were allowed into one. And if the child did not look like they were the required age, the parents would be asked for proof. People had gotten in serious trouble for trying to sneak a child under the age of thirteen into a sex slave auction.

Kurt had never thought this made much sense. If the law required you to be at sixteen to even own a slave, why could you attend an auction at a younger age? The boy figured that even being in the heart of the most ruthless system of the black market, half the rules and regulations surrounding it, he would never understand.

"Sold to Mrs. Pierce for one hundred thousand dollars!" he heard the auctioneer say then. Out of the very corner of his eyes, he could tell the woman who had just bought Santana looked quite pleased. The men grabbed the Latina slave and began dragging her off in the direction they'd taken every other slave that had been sold. That would be the last time Kurt saw her.

It was only moments before he felt the men's hands on his own figure and he was being forced to the block just like the others before him. They slammed him down hard and Kurt bit down on his lip to keep from yelling at the pain that spread through his bare knees. A hand on the back of his head forced him to look up and he could feel the fingers digging into the back of his scalp as they tugged harshly on his hair.

"And finally," he heard the auctioneer say. He could see several people in the audience already viewing him with ravishing eyes and it made him feel sick to his stomach. "We have a real special piece of prime merchandise for you. May I present Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, one of our ethereal beauties." There were ohs and awes from the crowd. Everyone wanted an ethereal. They were rare in a lot of places. "At thirteen, Kurt is fresh from training and has never had a master before. He is only available to men as the name on his wrist designates a male." There was no mistaking the sounds of disappointment that went up from the women in the crowd. "He is healthy, pliant, and body willing. You can see by his erect cock that he is quick to stand at attention," the auctioneer went on and Kurt fought the blush springing to his face. "I will start the bidding at twenty-five thousand," he concluded.

The boy lost track of how quickly paddles flew into the air and his price climbed higher and higher as horny looking CEOs and old geezers battled it out to be the first person to officially break him in as they would put it. He continued to sit there with his head forced up in such a way that the collar around his neck seemed to be restricting his airway even more. But that may have just been a figment of his imagination. The hair from the phalus tail was tickling the bottoms of his feet and he had to fight the urge to squirm against the feeling.

"I have one hundred thousand, do I hear one-twenty-five?" the auctioneer called out and the words were barely out of his mouth when another paddle went up and he was moving on to say he had one-twenty-five. And then Kurt heard something that nearly made his heart stop.

"Five hundred thousand!" shouted a voice and Kurt's eyes flickered to a middle-aged man with his legs crossed, paddle high in the air. He wasn't the only one who turned to look at the gentleman. It was clear that a bid of this measure on a sex slave was not a common occurrence. Kurt immediately decided to keep this to himself. That someone had wanted to be the first so badly that they had gone ahead and bid half a million dollars on him.

"I have five hundred thousand," the auctioneer got out in a shaky voice as though he too was stunned by the offer. "Do I hear five-twenty-five?" No one raised a paddle. The hall was silent. People wanted Kurt but he didn't think they dared go that high. "Five hundred thousand going once," the auctioneer said after a moment. There was still no move to bid higher. "Five hundred thousand going twice." It stayed silent. "Sold to Mr. Wells for five hundred thousand dollars!" There was the bang of a gavel and suddenly, the men were manhandling Kurt again.

He thought that when he reached the room where the other slaves had been taken after being sold, he would see Santana again but when they entered, it was to find the room empty, aside from another worker and the man who had just bought him.

They were discussing something that Kurt couldn't hear. The men forced him back onto his knees and grabbed his wrists. A length of rope he hadn't seen was pulled out and made quick work of being tied into knots, binding his wrists together tightly. He bit down on his lip once more to keep from crying out at the feeling of the rope cutting into his skin. His one reprieve was that the collar was removed from his neck and the phalus was pulled roughly from his ass.

"And you will have to purchase him a collar," the woman was saying. Kurt cringed at the thought of having to wear a collar full time. He dared to peek up a bit only to see her counting the five hundred grand the guy paid for him. Kurt quickly cast his eyes back down on the floor before they caught him staring where he wasn't supposed to be. His wrists hurt something awful.

There was nothing he could do though. Some guy had bought him. Some middle-aged business goon had pretty much just bought Kurt's virginity for five hundred thousand dollars. He wasn't even really good looking. In fact, he was on the overweight side and Kurt was kind of scared he would get crushed by the man and that would be the end of it.

"Come on slave," the man said gruffly then, taking the rope that was handed to him and forcefully yanking Kurt forward. It took all the boy's willpower not to yelp at the strength this man possessed. He kept his eyes down toward the floor as the man lead him out of the building. It was awkward trying to crawl along behind him with his wrists bound together, particularly when the man seemed to be a fast walker and it was kind of hard for Kurt to keep up with him. Half the time he felt like he was being crudely dragged.

The man pulled him around to the trunk of the car that was waiting for them outside. The driver popped it and Kurt felt rough hands lift him up and throw him carelessly into the trunk of the car. His back slammed painfully into a spare tire that was sitting on the floor of the trunk. Well, this was going well.

Darkness closed in around him as the lid was slammed shut and once more, Kurt bit down on his lip to keep from making a sound. He was rather tall for his age and the space of the trunk was cramped. Not to mention he was in a very painful position with his aching back still pressed against the spare tire. His cock was still painfully hard and he was sure it was leaking precum by then. Great, if any precum got on that tire he was surely going to be punished.

Kurt let out a small groan and tried to shift but he couldn't really move much. His hand flexed as he itched to touch himself, to relieve himself of that painful throbbing between his legs but he didn't because to release when he was not given the okay to be allowed to, to even touch himself without having permission, was a big no no. He would get in serious trouble. Instead, he managed to bring his wrists up to his mouth and clamped his teeth down on the rope. Not to attempt to untie it, but to keep his hands from straying where they shouldn't. He stayed in that position the entire car ride. Which wasn't all that short either. He wondered how far from the center this man lived.

It wasn't until he heard the slamming of the car doors that Kurt released the rope in his mouth. God forbid they find him there with it between his teeth and get the wrong idea. He waited. He waited and he waited and he waited some more, but no one came to pop the trunk. It was almost as if he had been forgotten.

It wasn't until Kurt was fighting to keep his eyes open as he'd had no permission to fall asleep that he finally heard the sound of a key in the trunk lock. His erection had long since subsided on its own, having no more contact to relieve the pressure and his back felt numb. His legs were cramped and tingly, having fallen asleep in the uncomfortable position.

When the lid popped, it was to find two faces staring at him, the middle-aged man and a young girl, no older than maybe sixteen or seventeen years of age.

"Daddy, he's a little young, isn't he?" the girl asked as she stared down at Kurt.

"No. Thirteen is when they start them Evelyn," the man replied. The girl looked over at him for a moment. "And I wanted only the best for my little girl. This one has never been used before."

Kurt fought the urge to widen his eyes as he caught on. The man didn't buy him for himself. He bought him for his daughter. Could he legally do that? The center would only sell to men, but that didn't mean the men would use the slave themselves and unfortunately, Kurt had no experience in hetero sex. He had only been trained to please another man properly. This was not going to end well.

The man reached into the car and pulled Kurt out, roughly dropping him to the ground and handing the rope to his daughter. "He's all yours pumpkin," he said, kissing her on the head and turning to walk away.

Kurt barely flinched as the tingles in his body gave way to new aches. He assumed the position, kneeling before the girl with his head tilted toward the ground.

"You're a pretty one. Daddy paid a pretty penny for you so you better be worth it slave," she ground out in a sickeningly sweet voice. She gave the rope a tug and started walking. She didn't walk nearly as fast as her father had but with his body being numb from being cramped up in the trunk for so long, he was slower at moving than he should have been. She frowned at him. "Get moving slave!" Kurt hustled to move faster.

He noticed nothing as he was lead through the house and then up a flight of stairs. Trying to crawl up stairs with bound wrists and numb limbs was not an easy task to begin with. It was only made more difficult by the fact that he was being tugged along by the rope that bound his wrists together.

She lead him into a room that was obviously decorated in expensive fabrics and furniture and it was probably her bedroom. Though it looked to be the same size as the entire shine room at the center. Kurt kept his head down still, not bothering to even do much as look like he was studying the room. He hadn't permission to check the place out. Not that he wanted to.

The door shut behind them and the girl dropped the rope before kneeling in front of him and forcefully grabbing hold of his chin. "You listen up slave. I am going to strip my clothes down and you," she said, giving is chin a forceful jerk, "Are going to fuck me, got it?" Kurt stared at her for a moment. "Answer me!" she shouted.

"Y-yes miss," he managed to get out.

She backhanded him across the face. "Did I give you permission to stutter slave?" She didn't bother waiting for him to answer her. Instead, she backhanded him again and it took all of his resolve not to cry from the pain of not one but two stinging cheeks. "No! I don't believe I did. You will behave yourself!"

Kurt had to wonder why the girl's father would even be okay with her having sex at this young age but he tried to trample those thoughts. A slave was not supposed to question the actions of his master. And if his master wanted him to fuck his daughter, than that was what he would have to do.

When the girl's hand moved down to grasp his cock, Kurt resisted the urge to flinch. He didn't like women touching him and well, he didn't really react to it properly either. She tugged roughly and when his cock didn't respond she tugged harder, frowning thoroughly.

Again, when after several strokes and tugs, his cock didn't give the slightest twitch, she backhanded him and kicked him in the stomach. Kurt let out a sputtering gasp as he fell forward on instinct.

"Daddy! _Daddy, daddy, DADDY!_ " the girl yelled, fisting her hands and stomping her feet. Within minutes Kurt saw the man come into the room out of the corner of his eyes.

"What's the matter pumpkin?" he asked.

She pointed at Kurt. "He's defective! I've been stroking his cock for at least five minutes and it hasn't even twitched!" She stamped her foot again and Kurt kept his eyes on the floor. He could feel the anger steaming off the man.

The next thing he knew, a beefy hand was wrapped around his throat and squeezing, putting increased pressure on his windpipe and Kurt found himself choking and gasping for air. He was raised up into the air and pinned against the wall, the hand around his throat holding him there and the action forced him to look directly into his master's eyes. They were dark pools of death practically. A cold fear ran up the thirteen year old's spine.

"Now you listen to me and you listen to me good whore," he said and that was the first time Kurt had been called anything other than slave or boy or in the rarest of moments, his actual name. "I didn't pay five hundred thousand dollars for a slave who can't get it up for my daughter. If that center lied to me, I will sue them!" he shouted. The pressure on Kurt's throat increased so slightly and he started kicking his legs. His hands were still bound at the wrists. "You wanna tell me why your cock isn't jumping to attention like they claimed it would?" He punctuated the question by slamming Kurt against the wall so hard his head whipped back and a searing pain jolted through his skull.

"I'm sorry master!" he rushed out as best as he could. The choking of his throat made it hard to talk. "I'm—meant—for—men," he got out brokenly.

In the next instant, the man had let go of Kurt's neck and the boy slammed hard into the wooden floor. He fought the urge to cry out at the new pain that joined his aching throat, throbbing head, and sore wrists.

"Is that so?" The man lifted a foot and pressed it into Kurt's chest, painfully forcing him to lie flat back on the ground with his knees still bent under him. Kurt felt tears well in his eyes with the effort of trying not to acknowledge the pain. His master made a point of stomping hard on his chest before removing his foot and dropping down to the ground. His beefy hand moved out to wrap itself around Kurt's cock and Kurt bit back a whimper at the touch. "Guess I'll have to prepare you for her myself than!"

The boy's body ached everywhere. His wrists, his head, his throat, his knees, and now his chest, not to mention the wind being briefly knocked out of him, when he'd been kicked in the stomach and again stomped on. Was this what it was really like?

He didn't have the time to actually consider that thought. His master's hand was twisting rapidly over his member, tugging and pulling on the upstroke. To his horror, Kurt found himself responding. In minutes his cock was once more throbbing painfully hard and leaking precum at the tip. The man stood, picked him up, and threw him so hard at the bed, Kurt's injured head slammed into the headboard.

"Put a condom on him," the man said to his daughter as he made to leave the room.

"But daddy," she started to protest but stopped as he rounded on her, eyes dark as they had been before.

"No sixteen year old daughter of mine is going to be getting pregnant," he said firmly and dangerously. His eyes flashed over to Kurt on the bed. The slave didn't dare to move. "Particularly not by some slave! Put a condom on him." Without another word, he turned and stomped out of the room.

The girl turned back to Kurt who was lying on the bed staring at her with wide frightened eyes. "Guess I have to do all the damn work!" she let out aggravatedly.

She crossed to the nightstand where she pulled out a condom and moved to the bed to forcefully roll it down over Kurt's cock. She glared hard at the boy and Kurt felt himself swallow the lump that had started to form in his throat. His first time having sex and it was being forced on him by a girl. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

She moved her hands to the hem of her shirt and Kurt shut his eyes on instinct. Bad idea. The next thing he knew, he was being backhanded again and his chin was grabbed forcefully once more.

"You will watch me while a strip slave! And you will appreciate my body for all its femininity!" She squeezed hard, fingers digging into the bones of his face. "Male anatomy is to be admired by women, not by other men. You understand me you disgusting little freak?!" she bit out. Kurt wanted to cry. "Answer me whore!"

"Yes miss!" he choked out and she backhanded him again.

"Now," she said, dropping her hand and returning to stripping off her clothes. It took all of Kurt's willpower not to shut his eyes again. "I am going to ride you," she went on, dropping her bra to the floor. "And you, are going to enjoy it." By the time she had finished speaking, she stood fully naked before him. And the only time Kurt had seen a naked female was during sex training at the center and none of them had full grown breasts.

He could see that her body was already wet with her own juices. Something he had learned in training was that females were self lubricating. Her hand snaked slowly down her own body and dipped between her folds, finding her clit and giving it a few hard rubs, stimulating her own body and letting out a moan at the contact. Clearly, she knew a thing or two about masturbation.

Kurt prayed that maybe she would get lost in the feeling of pleasuring herself long enough to where she wouldn't bother with him anymore and he could feel his cock begin to soften at the sight. He was disgusted by this, not turned on. However she only kept at it a few moments before she crawled on the bed.

The hand she had just been using to touch herself came up to his mouth and Kurt fought the urge to whimper a protest. "Suck," she ordered. He wanted so badly to disobey. "I said SUCK!" she reiterated and with a small whine, Kurt tentatively opened his mouth and she shoved her fingers in.

The taste of her was the most sickening thing he had ever tasted before in his life and he fought the urge to vomit as bile built up in his throat. Fought the urge but not well enough. The next thing he knew, she had yanked her hand back with a disgusted shriek. It was covered in vomit and Kurt could taste the bile that had come up in his throat.

The girl launched herself back off the bed and ran into her en suite bathroom. Kurt heard the water running and she was muttering something under her breath. He guessed she was scrubbing her hand like mad.

By the time she had emerged from the bathroom, Kurt's cock had softened again. The girl redressed quickly before gripping the condom and forcefully yanking it from him, fast enough to give latex burn if that was possible.

"Get up you piece of worthless filth!" she shouted, grabbing him by the rope between his wrists. She forced him off the bed and proceeded to drag him across the floor, flinging open the bedroom door with her free hand. Kurt knew there was going to be trouble.

She yanked him down the stairs in such a way that he got bumped and bruised all the way down. She kept marching through the house until she arrived in a study. She flung Kurt against the desk and he became aware that his master must have been sitting behind it.

"This disgusting little ingrate threw up with my fingers in his mouth! I demand a refund!" the girl shouted. There was the sound of wheels on the floor as a chair was rolled back and the next thing he knew, the angry face of his master was staring down at him.

"You dare to be disgusted pleasuring my daughter whore?!" he ground out and it took all of Kurt's resolve not to flinch at the spittle raining all over him. "Like hell you're worth five hundred thousand dollars! You aren't worth a penny!" His head turned up sharply. "Grady!" he shouted. Within moments a servant had entered the room. "Take him to the whipping post. Give him fifty lashes and leave him there overnight. We'll return him in the morning," he said in a tone that showed how angry he was with Kurt but at the same time was decent enough for a kindly given order.

The servant's hand wrapped around the end of the rope that was still binding Kurt's hands together. "Yes sir," he said shortly. Again, Kurt was dragged, not having even a moment to right himself to crawl behind his captor. The wooden floor was leaving scathing marks across his body. There were indents where the nails in the brass of the thresholds dug into his skin.

The sound of thunder met his ears as the servant dragged him over the threshold into a wide backyard of several acres. There was no doubt that a storm was on the horizon. It was late. Night had long since fallen and Kurt found he was terrified enough that he no longer was fighting sleep.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Kurt could make out a tall wooden post standing alone in the middle of the yard. A flash of lightning cracked the sky and to his horror, he found the post to be blood stained.

The servant dragged him through the grass to the post. He let him go carelessly, but only long enough to loop the rope through the restraints hanging from the post. He tied Kurt's wrists to them, causing the boy to end up hanging from the top of the post. The slave could feel the roughness of the wood against his bare skin and he was quite sure by the end of this, he would have a number of splinters embedded in his skin.

Silence befell him as the servant walked away, broken only by the sounds of the approaching storm and the occasional flash of lightning. Kurt bit his lip, knowing what was coming and yet not sure all at the same time.

And then it came. The red hot searing burn of a whip making contact with his back. Kurt gritted his teeth and cried out between them. The pain was unlike anything he had felt before. He barely had time to register the first strike before he was struck a second time, the second searing burn coinciding with the first and he could feel the blood from the lashes start to drip down his back.

And this continued. Over and over again until Kurt had counted a full fifty lashes. Only then did it stop. The servant left him there, back in pain and bleeding from multiple lashes of the whip. There were some across his thighs and buttocks and if he turned his head, he could see the ends of a few snaking up over his shoulder.

And the rain began to fall. The storm reared around him, washing the blood from his back but at the same time, causing him to shiver with the freezing cold and pouring rain. It would be a miracle if he didn't get sick after all this.

He spent the night tied to that post, full body in pain everywhere from all the beating and whipping.

The next day he was returned to the center, exchanged for two male slaves that were much more pliant to the female sex and half the price paid for him. He was beaten for costing them two hundred and fifty thousand dollars and then locked in his cubicle to sulk in his misery and fresh illness.


	8. Examination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go guys! Doctor's exam in this chapter! And sorry I didn't get it up sooner. I kept getting distracted while writing it. But it's here and I hope it suffices for you guys! You are all so incredible! Your kind comments blow me away! Given that this is going to be a series, I'm not sure yet how long this fic is going to be in particular. I'm going to say that it's going to be about the beginning of them together so I may only cover the first week in it and I may cover more than that. It's about them settling in a routine. So we'll see what happens yeah?
> 
> Also, there should be another attempt a bath coming up and Blaine will be conducting a search for Burt Hummel. Also, I'm thinking that he might put in a complaint to the center for lack of information. You'll see what I mean when you read this chapter.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

If there was one thing Blaine discovered about the black market it was that they didn't know the meaning of the word detail. The pages beneath the expert's exam report barely held much information at all. All he got out of the first one was that it was a man named Arthur Wells who had purchased Kurt at an auction. It gave a few details like address, age, and phone number. Other than that, the only information was that he had returned Kurt the very next day. There was no reason why or any details on what had happened while Kurt had been his slave.

Blaine looked at all the papers beneath the one about Arthur Wells and they all seemed to be like that. A frustrated sigh left his throat. Did they really expect him to learn about Kurt's past with such little information? What was he supposed to do, call the previous owners to find out himself? The very thought of it had him shuddering.

Blaine hadn't managed to sleep any that first night. After Kurt had revealed that he didn't know what HIV was, he had spent the rest of the night combating with himself about what to tell him. He finally settled on asking the doctor to speak with the boy about STDs.

He ran a hand over his face, knowing he probably looked like shit. At least it was Sunday and he didn't have to worry about going to class.

Kurt was once more curled up around himself on the bed. Blaine couldn't be sure whether he was sleeping or not. After the fact, the progress that seemed to have peeked its head out, reverted back into its shell and the spark of courage that Kurt had exhibited when trying to comfort Blaine was gone. If only because he seemed to think the way he was acting was out of line. He'd screamed himself hoarse, apologizing over and over again before curling back in on himself.

Blaine let a sigh escape his lips and he glanced toward the clock on the nightstand. How was it almost eleven in the morning? A peek down at the file in his lap had him wondering if he'd really been pursuing it that long. He had about three hours before the doctor would get there.

Eyes flicking toward Kurt, Blaine felt his stomach grumble. He needed to take a chance and get some breakfast but he was kind of afraid to leave the slave alone. After watching him for some time, it became clear to Blaine that Kurt was having nightmares every time he actually closed his eyes. And it pained the sixteen year old so much because all he wanted to do was reach out and wrap his arms around the helpless boy. But he couldn't do that.

Just then there was a knock at the door. Blaine tore his eyes away from Kurt, set the file aside, and stood up. He pulled open the door and peeked out, only to see Wes standing there with his hands in his pockets.

"You look like shit," Wes deadpanned. Blaine frowned at him. "May I come in?" The Asian boy asked, trying to cover his tracks.

The sophomore sighed and stood back to hold the door open wider so the older boy could enter the room. Wes' eyes flicked over to where Kurt was curled up on the bed before glancing at the file on the floor.

"How is he?" he asked quietly, pulling his eyes back up to Blaine. It was kind of peculiar coming from Wes. Blaine had never seen the boy - who was usually so intense - act anything of reserved before. It was as though he thought he was better off treading lightly and the younger boy was grateful for that.

Blaine sighed and ran a hand over his face as he shook his head in slight defeat. "I thought we'd made a little progress last night but he ended up screaming himself hoarse apologizing for caring," he said.

Wes raised an eyebrow and looked back toward Kurt. He tapped his chin for a moment. "Maybe we should have him meet David," he said.

This caused Blaine's eyebrows to shoot up into his hairline. All of the boy's friends were in the same thought about the slave trade as he was. Blaine would never want to be friends with someone who was a proud slave owner and enjoyed treating slaves like they were property. For that reason, there were members of the Warblers he wouldn't even say hi to. If Wes had his way, he wouldn't allow pro-slave trade boys in his glee club. But the school said he had to give them all equal opportunity.

David was Wes' slave. But he wasn't a sex slave. He was more of the type of slave that did what a butler might do. Still that didn't mean that David had always been treated kindly. He had some rough positions. Nothing nearly as bad as Kurt but maybe he would be able to help Kurt to start believing things would get better. He had lived it. Nowadays, David was less of a slave and more like Wes' best friend. He had even been allowed to get an education as long as he was still serving Wes.

Blaine frowned slightly. "I don't know Wes," he admitted giving his head a short shake. "David's not the same as Kurt is. Sure, he had some rough patches but he's not a sex slave. He can't sympathize with what Kurt's been through."

Wes sighed. He knew that Blaine was right and given how David was not even treated like a slave, he was willing to bet Kurt might not even believe he was one.

"Maybe you're right," he said, sounding slightly defeated and that was strange because Wes almost never gave in. He was silent for several moments before he ran a hand over the back of his head. "Look, I don't usually do this, and especially not for our lead singer, but I'm excusing you from Warbler practice for a week. I expect you to be at next Sunday's practice though."

Blaine gave his friend a stunned look as Wes headed back to the door. He was giving him a week. A week to adapt with Kurt at Dalton. The sixteen year old would be lying if he said he wasn't grateful, but he was curious about why. Wes understood about making a slave feel like a person but Blaine wasn't sure he understood about making a _sex_ slave feel like a person. That was a different challenge entirely.

One of the reasons it was so challenging was because Kurt had four years worth of abuse to work through. Blaine wondered if later, when Kurt was more comfortable talking about things and hopefully starting to trust him, he should look into getting him a counselor to talk to.

It wouldn't be unheard of. There were counselors who specialized in helping slaves with the transition to human being. Though they really only worked with those that reached the age of freedom. He wasn't sure there was a counselor that would be willing to work with one who was just entering the hey day of his slavery.

Blaine put that on the mental check list of things he wanted to try and do for Kurt. As Wes left them be, pulling the door shut behind him, Blaine felt his stomach grumble again. But he couldn't leave Kurt.

As much as he wanted a real breakfast, something quick to tide him over until he could maybe get someone to go down and get him something would have to do.

He moved to the mini fridge he had in the dorm room and pulled out a couple of bananas and a container of yogurt. Setting the items on the desk while he fished for a plastic spoon, Blaine got an idea.

Along with the spoon, Blaine grabbed a plastic knife and a paper bowl. He opened the container of strawberry yogurt and poured some of the contents into the bowl before stripping one of the two bananas and proceeding to cut it up. He dropped the pieces into the yogurt and took the spoon to it, mashing the pieces of the banana up to blend smushed banana into the yogurt. Hopefully, it would be easy on Kurt's stomach.

When he finished, he picked up the bowl and the spoon, leaving the second banana untouched on the desk with the knife. Blaine knew he had to eat but it was more important to him to get food into Kurt's stomach. So he could wait a little longer.

"Kurt?" he whispered. And it was a show of just how obedient Kurt was because just that small whisper of his name had the slave moving into his kneeling position on the bed. Blaine sighed. "Kurt look at me please," he went on. The boy lifted his head and Blaine could see how wary he looked. Had he gotten any sleep at all?

"Master?" Kurt asked in a voice barely there after how hoarse he has screamed himself. Honestly, Blaine was so glad that the walls at Dalton were so thick. Surely all the screaming would have woken people up.

The curly haired boy sighed heavily. "Kurt, I told you before, call me Blaine please," he said. "Here, I brought you some yogurt with mashed banana in it," he told him."

Kurt looked at the bowl the boy was holding with such wonder in his eyes as though he had never seen such a thing before. "Fruit? Blaine?" The tone in his voice suggested that fruit was not something he was given often or maybe not something he was even allowed to eat.

Blaine was trying his hardest to keep his heart from breaking all over again as it already had done several times. "Yes Kurt, fruit." He dipped the spoon in the mixture of yogurt and banana and slid a small portion onto it, bringing the utensil up to Kurt's mouth. "Kurt you need to eat please," he said when the slave just stared at it.

Slowly but surely, Kurt opened his mouth just enough for Blaine to fit the spoon in. He shakily took the bite and Blaine smiled encouragingly.

"Good boy Kurt," he said. He hated talking to him like that but right now, Kurt needed reassurance that he was doing the right thing and that would hopefully be enough to keep him eating.

It was and Blaine continued to feed the bowl of yogurt and banana to him at a slow pace. He made sure that Kurt had fully dissolved each small bite before he gave him another one. It was slow going and something that would have only taken Blaine a couple of minutes to eat, took Kurt nearly a full hour to get through. Though he had wanted to stop eating several times, fearing he was taking more than he was allowed, Blaine had insisted he eat all of it. He needed the nourishment, badly.

When Kurt had polished off the last bite, Blaine cautiously reached up a hand and stroked his head. Kurt stiffened and his eyes rolled upwards to attempt to stare at Blaine's hand. Blaine stroked his head a few times before withdrawing it and Kurt just stared at him like he had never seen him before in his life. No one had ever attempted such a comforting gesture toward him before.

It was only a few more moments before the slave reverted and once more, curled in on himself, wrapping his arms carefully around his torso. Blaine sighed. Someday, someday he would be able to show he cared without Kurt reverting. At least, he hoped he would.

He moved back to the desk and picked up the other banana, peeling it slowly as his mind went into a spiral of fantasy thoughts.

He tried to imagine the day that he would be allowed to kiss Kurt. Not because his status designated him to have that right but because Kurt wanted him to. He pictured Kurt's lips in his mind and realized then how amazed he was that they seemed to be pliant and soft rather than chapped as might be expected from a poorly cared for slave. And they didn't seem to be kiss bruised either. Maybe it had worn off by the time Blaine had come for him the day before.

The thoughts of picturing Kurt actually smiling beautifully at him, looking clean, fully healthy, and ready to kiss him almost pulled a groan from the boy's mouth. But instead, he shoved the banana into his mouth to stop such a noise from coming out. And then there was another knock on the door.

Blaine startled, the banana halfway in his mouth. He stumbled to the door, grabbing the bottom of the fruit and pulling it out, chewing the part of banana he had bitten off. Unfortunately, it was a little more than he could chew and he was resigned to pulling open the door with his cheeks stuffed with banana and just a bit of the yellow fruit poking out of his mouth.

Doctor Olsson was standing there and for a moment, Blaine stopped attempting to chew his banana, confused why she was there a full two hours early. She raised an eyebrow at him in an amused manner and moved passed him into the room. He shut the door and finished chewing the banana up with some difficulty.

"Sorry about that," he said when the last bit had finally been swallowed. "Not to be rude or anything, but what are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you for another two hours yet."

Doctor Olsson who was glancing toward the bed where Kurt hadn't budged spoke without taking her eyes off the slave. "I had a…cancelation," she said. The pause in her words was enough to tell Blaine that it wasn't a cancelation. The patient in question probably was no longer among the living. The boy looked toward Kurt with a sudden fear. What if it was too late to heal him enough to give him a good life?

 _Stop it Blaine_ , he thought to himself. _Don't think like that._ Instead, he busied himself by biting another more reasonable sized bite off the banana and crossed the room to the bed.

"Kurt sweetie," he said gently. The tension in the boy's body became evident at the term of endearment. Blaine went on anyway. "The doctor is here. Can you sit up for her please?" Kurt obediently moved into his kneeling position. "No sweetie, just sit okay?" Kurt looked at him for a long moment before awkwardly moving to sit on the edge of the bed with his legs dangling off. The sweatpants Blaine had put on him bunched up around his ankles.

Doctor Olsson crossed the room to kneel in front of him. "Hello Kurt," she said firmly but kindly. "I'm Doctor Olsson. Blaine and his parents have asked me to take a medical evaluation of you. Now you have a choice. We can ask Blaine to leave the room," and here Kurt quickly shook his head as though he were afraid of being left alone with her, though that didn't make sense. Kurt had no reason to fear women. Not that Blaine knew of anyway. "I take it that means you'd like him to stay?" Kurt hesitated a moment before he slowly nodded his head. "Any new concerns since I spoke to you?" she asked Blaine, not removing her gaze from giving Kurt a once over.

The teenager bit his lip. "Yes actually," he said slowly. Doctor Olsson turned her head to look back at him for a moment. "He—doesn't know what HIV is."

To his surprise, she did not appear to be shocked by this information. "That's nothing unusual. Slaves aren't taught about safe sex or the possibility of STDs. Unfortunately, they're not considered of any value to the world so if they die from or get infected with a sexually transmitted disease, no one bats an eyelash." She stood from where she was kneeling on the floor and moved to her medical kit she had brought along with her. "But you'd be surprised how very little slaves contract STDs," she added.

Blaine's eyes widened quite a bit at this bit of information because yes, it was kind of surprising. "Why?" he asked.

"Because slaves are viewed as dirty and unsanitary creatures so most people would rather die a painful death than risk catching something from a used slave." Well, it seemed that in trying to protect themselves from potential diseases, the public was also protecting the slaves. "However, if it puts you at ease, I'll run his blood for evidence of any diseases." Blaine quickly nodded his head.

"Oh, yes please," he said. She offered him a reassuring smile.

"Not to worry Blaine. I promise he's in good hands," she told him. She pulled a stethoscope from her bag and crossed back to Kurt, putting the buds of the instrument into her ears. "Now Kurt, Blaine tells me you're having some trouble breathing," she said and Kurt just stared at the device, the little round metal disk on the end seeming particularly shiny. "I'm just going to take a listen to your lungs and this might be a little cold okay?"

Kurt didn't say anything. He didn't even flinch when he felt the press of the cold metal disk to his bare back. He had felt colder things than that metal. Like the frozen snow just outside. He could handle this little disk.

"I need you to draw a deep breath Kurt. Can you do that for me?" she said. Kurt hesitated before he did as she asked. His breath rattled and wheezed in such a way even Blaine could hear it. She moved the disk. "Again," she said and Kurt repeated the action. She did this a few more times before removing the earbuds from her ears and glancing at Blaine. "Well, he does seem to be having some difficulty breathing but I don't believe his lungs are punctured. Not this time at least," she said. "It sounds as though they have been before." Blaine frowned at that and looked at Kurt who wasn't even moving. "I think they're probably bruised," she finished.

She moved on with the examination, carefully running her hands over his ribcage and the injured arm, taking in all the different feels of the bones. In the end, she concluded that his ribs were cracked in a few places and brought out a brace to put around him. Kurt tensed up when she snapped the brace into place on him. Clearly he was assuming this was some kind of torture. His arm, while not broken, had healed poorly from a previous break and it gave him some pain and discomfort to hold in certain positions. There was only one way to fix it.

"I'm afraid the arm is going to have to be rebroken so I can set the bones properly," she told Blaine and Blaine gave her a painful look. Clearly he was hoping that he wouldn't have to endure the idea of Kurt having his arm broken again. He sighed heavily and nodded his head. "You have your car here right?" she asked.

"Yes. My parents pick me up for weekends so I don't have to drive back and forth all the time," he told her. Doctor Olsson nodded her head in understanding.

"I want you to bring him to my office tomorrow after you get out of class," she told him, handing him her card before reaching into her med kit for a pair of gloves. "We'll get the arm squared away. I don't have the tools needed for it with me," she explained. Blaine nodded his head and went to slip the card into his school bag. "We'll draw blood for testing then too," she added quickly.

The examination of Kurt's head was next, the doctor setting the gloves aside for a moment. She prodded at Kurt's head with tender careful fingers, feeling around for signs of a wound.

"He does have a minor laceration that seems to be healing fine on its own," she finally said, pulling her hands away from Kurt's head. Blaine was a bit surprised. There had been quite a bit of blood matted in his hair but there was no telling how long it had been there. He decided that he could trust that Doctor Olsson was sure of what she was doing.

Next, she moved to pull the gloves on over her hands. Blaine went a bit tense as he was quite sure he suspected what was coming next.

Doctor Olsson turned to Kurt and gave him the gentlest look possible. "Kurt, I need to examine your entrance." She looked at Blaine. "Are you okay if Blaine remains?" Kurt hesitated for a moment and slowly nodded his head. He swallowed hard before moving to slide off the bed, intending to drop the sweatpants for her.

The moment he realized what Kurt was doing, Blaine rushed across the room and wrapped his arms around him before he fell to his knees. Kurt let out a yelp. "It's okay Kurt, I've got you," Blaine told him. The boy was shaking terribly, trying to stand up and not having any strength of balance in his legs. The sweatpants dropped as soon as he was standing no matter how shaky he was. Blaine frowned, noting that because of how skinny he was, the sweats couldn't stay up on their own at all.

Slowly, Blaine helped Kurt to turn around and brace himself against the bed. Without thinking, he started to stroke Kurt's head. The slave whimpered and tensed but Blaine continued anyway. He had to show Kurt that he wasn't there to hurt him. Also, he didn't want to see what Doctor Olsson was doing behind them.

"Now Kurt, try and relax," the doctor said. Kurt did his best to relax like the doctor told him to but it wasn't easy. Whenever someone had touched him there it was always with the intent of penetrating and violating him. He braced himself for that violation. But it never happened. Instead, he felt two fingers gently pressing around his entrance and examining the outer ring of muscle. And a moment later, the fingers were gone.

There was the sound of a cap popping open and Blaine dared to look over his shoulder at the doctor. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I need to examine his inner muscles to see if he has deeper tearing than the cuts and lacerations I've already found on the outer ring," she said. She wiggled the two fingers on her right hand that were covered with some sort of jelly-like substance over the glove. "I'm using a medicated lubricant to make the slide easier and less painful."

Lube. Right. Any caring lover would gently open his partner up and stretch him with the aide of lube. Blaine had no doubt that none of Kurt's previous owners had ever bothered with the stuff. He was grateful that the doctor was being so gentle and thorough with her work.

"Kurt, are you okay?" Doctor Olsson asked. Kurt managed a tiny nod. Blaine watched his hands grip the bed clothes tighter and his bottom lip got sucked into his mouth. There was a sharp whine when she pressed her two fingers to his hole again. "There there, easy Kurt. Relax," she soothed. "Relax." She repeated the word several more times until Kurt's body slackened into a more relaxed state. "There you go. I'm going to press them in now, okay?" Kurt managed another weak nod. A sharp intake of breath told Blaine that she had pressed her first finger in and the sixteen year old didn't dare look anywhere else.

"Kurt," he said gently and the slave turned his head in his direction. "Eyes on me, okay? Keep your eyes on me. It's going to be okay Kurt." Blaine continued to try and keep him distracted for the few moments the inner examination seemed to take. Or maybe it was a few hours. He couldn't even be sure.

"All right," Doctor Olsson said finally, pulling off her gloves and tossing them into a trash can Blaine had in the room. "He's going to need some dissolvable stitches. I can do that when you come by tomorrow too," she told Blaine. She helped Kurt by pulling the sweats back up for him and Blaine helped him climb back on the bed where he immediately returned to his fetal position.

"Is that it for now?" Blaine asked, biting his lip.

She nodded. "For now yes. We'll take care of those other things and maybe get an x-Ray of his chest tomorrow to assess the exact damage of his cracked ribs," she told him. "Have you fed him anything?"

It was Blaine's turn to nod. "Yes, he had some chicken broth soup last night and this morning I gave him some yogurt with mushed banana," he said. Doctor Olsson nodded a second time.

"Okay, keep with light foods. Crackers, broth, things like that. I'll have you bring him in regularly so I can keep track on how he's doing feeding wise," she said. "I'll be able to let you know when you can take his diet a step up." Blaine was grateful for the advice because he wasn't sure what to do. "If you want to get some vegetables in him, I suggest either baby food, or purée some vegetables into a paste that would be easier for his stomach to handle. Applesauce would be good too."

"Thank you Doctor Olsson," he said, happy to have some semblance of options on what to feed Kurt.

"Of course Blaine," she replied as she packed up her kit. Blaine's banana had been forgotten, left behind on his desk. "I'll see myself to the door." Blaine watched her walk over to it and pull it open. "I'll see you sometime tomorrow afternoon, correct?" she asked.

"Correct," he confirmed, looking back at Kurt. She followed his gaze and sighed.

"One more thing," she said, grabbing his attention again. "Try to work on coaxing him out of that position. It's not very good for his injuries." Blaine gave his head a tiny nod. It wasn't going to be easy because this just seemed to be the way Kurt always folded in on himself. But he was determined to try. "I'll see tomorrow," she said. And with those words, she was out the door, closing it softly behind her.

Blaine's eyes went back to Kurt and he stared at him with a defeated look. His prognosis was better than Blaine had expected but there was still the blood to be drawn and the fact that she would have to rebreak his arm for it to heal properly not to mention putting stitches in his hole. That wasn't going to be very comfortable.

And as he watched the boy curled in that position, he wished that Kurt would trust him enough to let him hold his hand through it all.

Blaine felt a little bit of hopelessness.


	9. The Phone Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies this didn't go up yesterday like I was hoping but some stuff went down and I didn't get to finish writing it yesterday. I might have tried for last night but I pretty much had a throbbing headache all weekend. So here it is now. Also, I'm letting you guys know I'm not sure how often updates will come over the next week. I'll be pretty involved with something else for a bit so I'll do my best. If I can, I might write a couple of chapters and hoard them until things calm down. But I don't know yet.
> 
> Again, thank you to the amazing response I've gotten for this story and all your comments make me so happy. I do read them all. And I thank you all for being patient with me even though I know you guys are all so excited for this to continue. I'm hoping to eventually maybe be able to do daily updates on this fic sometime in the future but with two RPs to keep up with and another writing project in the works to keep moving towards, that will be a challenge. I guess the best thing for you guys is that I have the kind of life where I can literally do nothing but sit on the internet all day everyday. So I have the time for it. Just learning to balance it all will be the challenge.
> 
> Anyway, enough of my rambling. On with the chapter yes? We're getting a little blast of happy around the corner! Or will it be a little blast of happy? Don't know. Guess it all depends on Kurt's reaction in the next chapter. I think you'll understand where that's going to go when you finish reading this one. Let me know whether you want that to be Blaine's POV or Kurt's POV. I'm giving you the option to decide whose POV to tell it from. ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

It was hard. The whole idea of trying to care for Kurt when the boy in question didn't trust him an ounce. But he knew it was something he had to keep working at. The frustration was climbing and Blaine was beginning to feel like he was going to snap at the next person who asked how Kurt was doing. Well, there were only three of his friends who knew about him. Nick, Jeff, and Wes. Though Blaine wouldn't put it passed Wes to tell David about Kurt.

One thing that had the curly haired boy worried was the fact that Kurt had very calmly adjusted to the doctor examining him. He had hesitated a few times but he hadn't seemed to get completely scared. He had tensed of course when the anal examination progressed but that was the height of his negative response. It worried Blaine because if Kurt hadn't known what a doctor was, why wasn't he more scared of her than he seemed to act?

The boy was still curled in on himself, Blaine being less than successful at trying to coax him into stretching out on the bed properly. He knew the doctor didn't want Kurt aggravating his injuries anymore than they already were but the issue was that Kurt seemed to feel the safest in this position. And given the idea that he likely didn't know what a life without pain felt like, he was probably used to the pain curling around himself like that was bringing him.

This idea did not amuse Blaine in the slightest. No one should be so used to pain that they completely seemed to just ignore it and endure it without so much as a whimper. Kurt was very good at trying not to make any sounds that indicated he was hurting or uncomfortable in any way. The sixteen year old was quite sure if he did, the slave would be apologizing profusely, maybe even expecting to be hit. But with what?

"You can use your belt," came the voice from the boy on the bed, snapping Blaine out of his reverie and causing him to stare at Kurt for several seconds. Had he been reading his mind? "You were thinking aloud," Kurt whispered in his small voice. He curled around himself tighter and it was at that moment that Blaine realized he'd been voicing his thoughts. "Apologies for speaking out of turn sir," Kurt said then, voice tinged with a small quiver as though he were preparing for the punishment.

Blaine shook his head. "You weren't speaking out of turn," he said softly. But it seemed that Kurt did not believe this statement.

"I was," he said. "You did not directly speak to me so it was out of turn for me to answer an indirect statement," he explained and Blaine's heart broke yet again. Did he really believe that he would get in trouble for speaking his mind on something? Not that he was speaking his mind so much as suggesting a solution to Blaine's apparent verbal thoughts.

Blaine moved closer and gently placed a hand on the slave's back. He felt the boy tense completely beneath him. He let out a sigh. "Kurt, I'm not going to hurt you, not now, not ever, not for anything. You are perfectly welcome to join in a conversation whenever you like," he told him. As frustrated as the situation was making Blaine, he just did not have the strength in him to ever take it out on Kurt. That would undo whatever progress he might have already made.

He was surprised however, by Kurt's response. "Stop," the pale boy said.

"I'm sorry what?" Blaine asked in a confused tone. For the first time, Kurt seemed to move with purpose and he uncurled himself and moved up onto his knees, staring Blaine directly in the eyes, his own now void of any emotion that didn't go with dark and angry. Blaine was taken aback by the sudden change in the slave's demeanor.

"Stop it Blaine! Stop it right now!" Kurt ground out.

"S-stop what?" Blaine stammered. He had never expected anything like this from this scared boy who kept mostly to himself.

Kurt's eyes seemed to darken, as though he thought Blaine's reaction was anything but genuine. "Stop pretending to be caring and nice! Stop trying to lure me into a false security! Stop trying to make me feel safe only to ravish me just when I think you actually won't! You think I haven't had masters like you? The kind who pretend to care about me only until I believe they won't hurt me? I know what this is Blaine, so just stop it!"

The teenager stared at Kurt with wide eyes for a moment. This was the most he had ever heard the slave say at one time. And this was the most force he had ever seen Kurt show with anything. He was completely surprised. The slave looked like he was wheezing quite a bit from his outburst, but he held his position, his hard eyes still fixed on Blaine's. This was certainly not something he had ever expected to happen.

"Kurt…" he got out in a small voice but that was all he managed to get out before Kurt cut him off.

"Stop calling me that! Stop referring to me by name like I matter!" he shouted.

"You do matter Kurt!" Blaine protested, placing a hand to his chest. Kurt scoffed and finally tore his eyes away. Blaine bit his lip, trying to figure out something to say that might show Kurt even a little bit that he was serious in all his actions. "You're a human being just like I am! You deserve to be treated like one, not an animal. My family and I, we're against the slave trade! We always have been!" he got out.

That caught Kurt's attention. He looked back at Blaine but the hardness in his eyes had softened quite a bit. Not entirely though. "If you're so against the slave trade, why the hell did you buy me than?" he ground out, not completely in disbelief but not completely friendly either.

Blaine let out a sigh. "Because of this," he said, holding out his right wrist so that Kurt could see his own name scripted across it. "You know the law just as well as I do Kurt. Any soul marked non-slave is required by law to track down and purchase their soul marked slave," he said. Kurt's demeanor broke and he slumped in on himself, continuing to wheeze. Blaine was right. It was a requirement. "We've been waiting for the day that I turned sixteen so we could rescue you. Maybe it wasn't making a dent in the whole slave trade, but being able to save even just one person from that horrible life makes a difference."

Silence fell over the room. Kurt didn't say anything. He just stared at Blaine, a mellow surprise written all over his face as though he could not believe there were even people like him in the world. Kurt had never known anyone who was genuinely caring when it came to slaves. He still was hesitant to believe Blaine entirely. What if this was just a story he had prepared for just this purpose? To ease Kurt back into thinking that it wasn't a trap after all.

No matter how much he wanted so desperately to believe Blaine, especially because the boy looked so honest, he couldn't let his guard down. He said nothing but returned to his curled up fetal position on the bed, indicating that the conversation was over.

Blaine briefly considered reminding Kurt that the doctor didn't want him curling up like that but he let it go. It wasn't worth another potential outburst. Kurt was not strong enough for more arguments. As it were, Blaine was already surprised he hadn't passed out.

So instead, he tentatively reached out a hand to rub over Kurt's back. Again the slave tensed at the touch but made no more acknowledgement of the action. "Try and get some sleep Kurt," Blaine said gently, stroking the boy's back.

There was no response from Kurt but Blaine hadn't been expecting there to be one. He moved away from the bed and decided to do something he hadn't done during his night of research before.

Locate Burt Hummel.

Standing from his spot beside the bed, Blaine gave Kurt one last fleeting look before he moved back to his desk and opened his laptop. He wrung his hands nervously as he powered the computer on, not knowing what he was going to find.

He did have to wonder what he was going to find when he went to search for Mr. Hummel. He wondered if the man was a retired slave now. He figured he might be. Most slaves with children were granted freedom before the child reached the age at which they would have graduated high school if slave children were allowed to go to school and if Kurt was seventeen, he was around that very age right then.

Blaine's primary concern was that Burt might not still be alive like his wife and he still wasn't sure how he was going to tell Kurt that his mother was no longer living. But there were plenty of other concerns. You'd be surprised how many slave parents wanted nothing to do with their children when faced with the opportunity to see them. Most of them had gone on to live without them in their lives and then there was the fact quite a few did not want to go through the pain of seeing their children subjected to the same lives, or worse lives if they were a sex slave, as they had been.

As far as Blaine was concerned, he knew absolutely nothing about Burt Hummel. The man might be sore about his past as a slave. He might very well want nothing to do with the slave trade. He might be a monster and if he was than Blaine didn't want Kurt to know him, but he had to find out.

The computer had long since powered on when Blaine snapped out of his reverie. He shakily clicked the internet browser icon and moved to put the cursor in the address bar. He typed in google and hit return. For a long time, Blaine just stared at the google home page. His next venture would lead him down a road he was undeniably scared to take.

He was only mildly comforted by the fact that because he was taking the initiative, neither himself, nor Burt could get in any trouble for providing contact between father and son, the contact that had been forbidden all because Kurt was born with a name on his wrist.

Drawing a deep breath, the boy reminded himself that he was doing this for Kurt and with hands still shaking, he typed _Burt Hummel_ into the search bar.

The very first thing that popped up when Blaine hit the search button, was a website for Hummel Tires & Lube. The boy was taken aback because it appeared that not only was Burt a freed slave now, but he also had his own mechanic shop. The man had done reasonably well for someone who had been a slave the majority of their life.

Blaine clicked on the link and scanned the web page for a phone number. He found it in the contact information, which also included the address of the shop and Burt's full name. Apparently, the man lived in Lima, Ohio. That was just a two hour drive from Westerville, which was where Dalton Academy was located.

Glancing at Kurt once more, Blaine grabbed his cell phone off the desk and hastily dialed the number into it. He froze then though, feeling scared to press the call button. This was it. The last string that would quite likely connect him to Burt Hummel, Kurt's father. This was going to be a sink or swim action. But more importantly, it might just be the thing he needed to show Kurt that he was serious in everything he was doing for him.

Blaine allowed his eyes to linger on the slave curled up on the bed, using the boy's appearance as a courage booster. His hands tightened on the phone. He was well aware that Burt may not be the friendliest to him. After all, he was the boy that owned his son. What reason did Burt Hummel have to be civil? First impression would likely be completely disgusted. He drew a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for the possible outburst of rage he might get from Kurt's father. With his eyes still fixed on Kurt, Blaine pressed the call button and brought the phone to his ear.

It rang once. Twice. Three times. And then, "Hummel Tires & Lube. This is Burt Hummel speaking. How may I help you?" Blaine felt his breath hitch slightly. He could tell just by the tone of the man's voice that he was likely to be the protective type.

"Mr. Hummel?" he heard himself say. "My name is Blaine Anderson. I'm calling in regard to your son, Kurt?" he ended on a question.

There was several moments of silence on the other end of the line. Blaine held his breath, not knowing what to expect. "You work for the black market? Because you don't sound old enough to," the man finally replied, voice sounding slightly suspicious.

Blaine bit his lip against going off on a tangent on how he would never work for the black market if it was the last job on earth. He'd rather live under a rock. Instead, he proceeded calmly, feeling that was probably the better approach.

"No sir. I'm a student at Dalton Academy in Westerville sir," he said, barely able to keep his voice from quaking. "I only just turned sixteen yesterday," he clarified.

"Than what is this about?" Burt asked. He was definitely suspicious by this time. And Blaine couldn't blame him. He was after all, a strange teenage boy calling him at work out of the blue and asking about his son whom he hadn't seen for more than a few moments.

Blaine shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, counting slowly to ten in his head. "I'm his soul mate sir," he said quietly.

Again, the phone line lapsed into silence. Blaine wasn't sure what the outcome of this news was going to be. He wasn't even sure how to progress from where he sat. He hadn't told Burt that he already had Kurt in his care. He didn't know if Burt was even curious as to what was going on with his son. He was about to learn quite a bit though.

"You know, there's not a day that goes by I don't wonder about him. What he looks like, whether he looks like his mother. She was a beaut you know?" Burt said. Blaine licked his lips, somehow knowing that the man wasn't done speaking to him. "It's a crushing feeling to have a child taken right out of your care like that. I wonder what it would have been like if Kurt had not been born a designated sex slave. It pains me everyday that he will never know Elizabeth and Elizabeth will never know him." He paused again. When he spoke once more his voice sounded slightly choked. "It is a struggle everyday knowing that I don't have the right to search for him until he makes it to his age of freedom, if he lasts that long."

The teenager couldn't help the pang in his heart at the man's words. He could tell that Burt had nothing but pure love for his son. Even after seventeen years of not actually knowing him. This man was strong. He could tell that too. It must have been where Kurt got his strength to fight through all the unbearable pain that he had to endure. He sat there and watched the pale boy for a moment and he knew what he had to do.

"What if I told you that you didn't have to wait? That you could see him right now if you wanted to?" he asked carefully into the phone.

Burt was clearly confused by his next reply. "Kid, you know the law. I can't look for him and he can't look for me, not until we both are free," he replied.

"That may be true Mr. Hummel, but everything has a loophole," Blaine replied.

He could hear the furrow in the man's brows over the phone. "What are you getting at Blaine?" he asked carefully.

Blaine reached a hand down to play absently with the hem of his shirt, rolling it between his finger and thumb, licking his lips. "The law forbids the two of you from searching for each other, but it does not forbid an owner from searching for the slave's parents." He let go of his shirt and placed his hand to his chest. "I finally was legally able to purchase Kurt yesterday. My family and I have always been against the slave trade. My goal Mr. Hummel is to show Kurt that he is a person and he deserves to be treated like one. As such, I think it's important that he is allowed to know you. A father is an important figure in a child's life sir." He had to draw a deep breath after his speech, realizing he had said all of that in one breath. But he was nervous about how Burt would react.

"You're telling me, you have Kurt?" Burt asked.

"Yes Mr. Hummel," Blaine confirmed, eyes back on the boy on the bed.

"And you're offering to let me see him?" Burt asked next.

"Yes Mr. Hummel," Blaine repeated.

"And you're absolutely sure we can't get in trouble for this?" Blaine was physically shaking his head.

"Positive sir," Blaine said. "The law has no right to dictate how an owner cares for or what they do for their slaves. Therefore, if I wish for Kurt to have contact with his family, that's my decision and they can't do anything about it because he's mine." He paused for a moment. "The slaves are only under government abided law when they do not have a personal owner. Personally owned, they follow whatever rules their master sees fit. And me, I have no rules other than to teach Kurt he's allowed to be his own person and make his own choices. He's my soul mate and I am determined to actually love him not use him."

A sniff on the other end of the line indicated Burt Hummel seemed to be tearing up. Blaine had always kind of prided himself on the fact that he was quite a bit mature for his age.

"Where did you say you were kid?" the man asked in a choked up voice.

"Dalton Academy sir," Blaine told him. "It's in Westerville, two hours from Lima," he explained.

"I know. My new stepson and his Glee Club competed against theirs I think," he replied.

Well this was news to Blaine. It was a small world if this man had remarried a woman who had a son that was in a Glee Club that Blaine and the Warblers had competed against. More importantly, he wasn't aware that free slaves were allowed to marry people who had never been slaves or that those people would ever want to marry someone who had been a slave. There was more justice in this world than he had even realized.

"You said I can come there and see him?" Burt asked next.

"Whenever you like sir. Just not during school hours. And tomorrow afternoon won't work either. I have an appointment to take him to a doctor's office so she can do some things she was unable to do on her home visit earlier today," he explained.

There was silence for a moment before Burt spoke again. "And if I wanted to come today?" he asked carefully.

"You're very welcome to it Mr. Hummel. But I do want to warn you, he's not the healthiest looking. It's going to take some time to get him healthy. I only got him yesterday," he told him. "But Mr. Hummel, I swear to you even under all the health issues, he is the most beautiful boy I have ever seen in my life. They had him labeled ethereal."

Burt let out a slight gasp at the boy's words. To hear that even with everything Kurt had probably had to endure, this boy still thought he was beautiful, it melted away the few last doubts he had that this kid was just having him on and he wasn't going to see Kurt after all. But also, he couldn't fathom what reason some kid he didn't even know would want to pull such an awful prank on him in the first place.

"I'll be there in a few hours. Let me just find someone to close up the shop tonight and I'll be there," he said breathlessly.

"Of course Mr. Hummel," Blaine replied. "I'll be waiting. When you get here, just ask for Blaine Anderson and tell them I gave permission for you to come see me in my room," he explained. "I'd come down to the office to meet you and show you up here myself but I don't want to leave Kurt alone. And I don't trust any of my friends to stay with him right now, even for a few moments."

"Right," Burt said. "Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Good-bye Mr. Hummel," Blaine said quietly before hanging up the call. He kept his eyes fixed on Kurt for several more moments before he whispered toward the boy, "You're gonna see your dad Kurt. You're gonna see your dad."


	10. Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry this has taken longer. I've got other stuff going on and I'm struggling a little bit with my muse for this story. I promise I will not be abandoning it. I just might be a little bit slower for a time. People who know me know that I would rather not put anything up at all than give my readers something I'm not happy with.
> 
> So, there is drama in this chapter and like people requested, it is from Kurt's POV. We still will have the bath attempt coming up in a future chapter. I hope you are all doing well!
> 
> Big news here btw. Looks I'm going to NYC for Chris' signing. I was planning to go to the Bay Area but he's not going there this year, just LA and the whole point of this is for me to have the experience myself after my dad got his autograph for me the past two tours.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

Being a slave was not the easiest thing in the world. There were things that some people just didn't understand. Situations that they expected one reaction and got a different one. You never really knew which way the slave was going to turn next.

Kurt knew he was a prime example. He was constantly surprising his masters which most of the time was not something that they appreciated. The whole situation with the doctor was one of these times. He could have kicked and screamed and cried and called out but he didn't. He didn't because any other person other than Blaine it seemed would have beat him senseless had he not cooperated with this doctor.

He knew kind of what the woman was. But he hadn't been expecting her to be so caring and gentle. The few times he had seen one of these doctors, he'd been handled roughly, usually at the command of his owner. _Get it over with. I don't have time for this. Come on! I need to fuck him now! My cock isn't getting any smaller you know!_ A shudder rolled through the slave's body as he pretended to be sleeping.

And then there was the outburst. Kurt was still terrified he was going to get punished for that but he just couldn't help it anymore. Even through all he had endured, the boy had at least a shred of pride left in him. He had encountered owners like Blaine before. Those who pretended to care and acted like they loved him and wanted to make things better for him. Sure, none of them had ever put clothes on him or even promised to find his parents like Blaine had but that didn't mean anything.

Kurt wasn't stupid. All the care and generosity was only to lure him into a false security, just like every other time in the past. It had happened enough now that he knew it when he saw it and he was determined not to fall for it anymore. He had told himself to just play along this time but it got too much. It got too much and all that anger he had been harboring toward owners like this had come out. It had given him a strength he had never known he could have and he had snapped at Blaine.

He had been expecting retaliation. For Blaine to go off on him. Yell, cry, laugh at him. _Something_. So when Blaine remained that same heartbreakingly gentle person he had been from the beginning, it only served to frustrate Kurt more. He was more terrified of the fact that Blaine seemed to be able to keep his calm exterior than if he had shouted at him. Shouting he could handle. Calm and gentle he could not.

Did he believe the words that had come out of Blaine's mouth in that moment of power he had? Not entirely. Sure, it all made plausible sense but that was all. Blaine struck him as a smart kid. He wouldn't put it passed him to fabricate a very plausible story like that one just to continue to lure him into that false sense of security. Kurt wasn't stupid. Outwardly, he may have seemed like he had just given up and started to go along with everything. But inwardly, in his mind, the tough part of him was still in there and if he couldn't fight this battle physically than he would do it mentally.

In short, he wasn't taking any chances. Not now. Not ever. And he didn't care that Blaine claimed he would never return him, soul mate or not. He would eventually get bored with him, just like the others had. After all, as one of his previous owners had said, he was just a come storage unit.

Kurt had heard some pretty shameful terms used toward slaves of his nature. The usual ones, cock slut, whore, even punching bag. But to be called a come storage unit was probably the lowest thing he had ever been called before in his life. The thing was that it couldn't be more right. Really, a sex slave was just a place for a horny person to deposit their come. So come storage unit sounded about right, like the perfect fit.

He was beginning to wonder why Blaine hadn't figured that out yet. This was the longest Kurt had gone under ownership without being beaten or fucked. Sure, he'd had owners pretending to care about him before but they at the very least had not been able to refrain from punishment. Blaine had continuously touched him in no way other than gentle and it was beginning to worm a hole of aggravation into the slave. He gripped the bedsheets tighter.

In any case, the boy now had another issue. Blaine had apparently found his father. Blaine had invited said father to come and see him. Blaine was an idiot. Did he really think Kurt wanted to see the man who was supposed to be his father in this condition? He didn't care that Blaine had warned him that Kurt was not going to be a pretty sight.

The slave hitched a breath. No. He couldn't see him. He couldn't. Not now. Kurt wasn't even sure if he forgave his parents for not fighting the government when they took him away. In his mind, that meant they didn't want him as much as this man probably made it seem. They didn't fight for him, Kurt didn't want to see them.

"Send him away," he muttered, face pressed into the mattress of Blaine's bed. He wasn't sure whether the boy heard him or not or how long it had been since Blaine had told him that his dad was coming.

"What?" The word was spoken with surprise as though the other boy had never fathomed that Kurt wouldn't want to see his parents again.

The pale boy clutched tighter at the bed sheets and gritted his teeth, but kept his face turned away from his owner all the same. "I said send him away," he repeated, this time with more conviction than the original mutter. He had to get his point across. If Blaine cared like he claimed he did, he would respect Kurt's wishes.

"I don't understand," and the slave could hear him shake his head. "Don't you want to see your dad Kurt?" he asked.

"No," Kurt replied flatly. Oh how much strength it took to say that word because the truth was that yes, Kurt did want to see his dad. He wanted to see him so badly it hurt. It was tearing him apart inside to tell Blaine to send the man away. But he couldn't see him. Not like this. Not when the man would probably break in half at the fragile state of his son that he was forced to give up seventeen years ago.

"Why?" was all Blaine asked. Kurt was a bit surprised by his response. He expected him to sit there and try and talk him into going through with it. But no. He had merely asked why Kurt didn't want to see his dad.

But what was he supposed to say? He couldn't tell him his real reason. He couldn't let Blaine in on his inner thoughts. The boy had done nothing to earn knowing what Kurt was really thinking.

"I just don't," he said instead, teeth still gritted and hands clutching the sheet even tighter. He could feel a nerve vein start to pulse in his head. This Blaine, he was irritating. Any other owner would have taken their belt and whipped him over and over by now, telling him he didn't have a choice. He was going to see the man whether he wanted to or not. But Blaine continued to be what Kurt could only assume was compassionate and stayed where he was, no signs of a belt being removed.

He heard the other boy stand and the sound of pattering on the floor as Blaine apparently began pacing the room. "Kurt, I don't understand why you wouldn't want to see him. I would have thought you would have been overjoyed," he said, voice tinged with the confusion that he was obviously feeling.

Kurt was visited by the very common urge to turn and throw a fist at him but just like every other time, he fought against it with all his willpower. Kurt had already learned what punching the master resulted in. He was lucky to be alive after that. Even the man who owned him then had said so. He'd been returned the day after the incident.

Instead, he decided to try a tactic he had never used before. It was a risk, but it was something that would judge Blaine's true character and help him a little with figuring out why his new owner was not just dropping the façade already and proceeding forward with it.

"Put yourself in my place Blaine," he said, struggling to keep his voice strong because he wasn't used to actually speaking up and being firm with his words. "Would you really want your parents to see you like this?" he asked then. This was what they called reverse psychology right? Kurt had never been so bold as to challenge his master before but he needed to get his point across without delving into thoughts Blaine had no right to access.

The room fell silent after his words. Blaine stopped pacing. Kurt could tell by the sound of the pattering cutting off abruptly. He could feel the boy's eyes burning into his back and he curled tighter around himself. He hated when people just stared at him like that. It felt like they were seeing right through him, gazing at the brittle bone and muscle beneath his pale skin, seeing how fragile he really was.

"I can't just tell him to leave Kurt," he said finally and Kurt felt that it was coming now. That Blaine was going to tell him that he had no choice. He had to see the man. "That would be rude. Especially after making him drive two hours to get here."

Two hours. Kurt's dad lived a mere two hours from this place. He hadn't figured out where they were exactly but his supposed father was driving two hours just to see him for the first time since the day he was born. He bit his lip, hating himself for the guilty feeling that washed through him at the thought of it being rude to just make the man leave. He hated to admit it but Blaine was right. He couldn't just tell him to leave after coming all that way.

"Than have a conversation with him or something. I don't know. Just don't let him see me," he finally said. He didn't care what Blaine did with the man. As long as he didn't bring him to see Kurt. Sure, after all the hope the phone call had probably given the man, it would hurt him to know that his son didn't want to see him but Kurt was adamant about this. If he was strong enough, he would put his foot down. Both figuratively and physically.

"I can't leave you up here alone," Blaine said. Kurt scoffed at that. He finally moved from his curled up position and once more turned to face Blaine with hard eyes.

"Do you really think anyone else cared about leaving me alone… _sir_?" he said, watching Blaine cringe.

"That's just it Kurt," Blaine reiterated, placing his hand to his chest. "I _do_ care!" Kurt stared at him for several long moments. The hard look in his eyes fell away and the sixteen year old felt like he might have gotten through to him. But Kurt's eyes returned to their former fearful and sad expression and when he spoke, his voice became soft and small again, almost like he was defeated.

"Do us both a favor Blaine, and don't, just don't," he said. Kurt turned his head away and remained kneeling on the bed. He was telling him not to care about him. He wasn't worth caring for. He was just a place to dump sperm. He wasn't worth anything more than that. A sex slave could even be seen as lower than a whore. A whore at least did these things by choice. A sex slave had no choice.

Blaine's response was enough to make the frustration start to grow again. "We should attempt that bath again," he said, almost as though he were completely ignoring what Kurt had just said. Kurt felt his irritation bubble up but he said nothing about it because Blaine ignoring his words was at least a step in the right direction of how the boy should be acting.

"After," he said instead, turning to curl back in on himself. Blaine was a smart boy. He would figure out what Kurt meant. "Go," he added.

"Kurt, I'm not going—"

" _Go_!" Kurt growled out, cutting him off. There was a slight yelp and what sounded like the door being opened and shut again reluctantly as the movement was slow. And Kurt knew he was alone. He was alone in the room.

He huddled more around himself and let a whimper out as he forced the tears away from his eyes. Blaine couldn't know. He couldn't know how badly Kurt wanted to see his father, to know the man, but Kurt refused to let him see him like this, at possibly his lowest point. That was not how he would choose to meet his father. He wanted to be able to smile at him. To hug him. To walk and talk and laugh with him. But honestly, Kurt could not remember the last time he actually walked. Most of getting around for him now was by crawling on his knees. Being allowed to walk was a privilege, one he had never really been given before. That probably explained why he was so weak standing on his own two legs.

The sudden sound of a key in the lock both startled and confused him. Blaine had only left a moment ago. Surely he wasn't back yet. The door opened and Kurt didn't dare turn his eyes toward it. He heard a soft click. Silence lingered in the room. Silence. And then a voice spoke. A voice that sent a cold trill running up his spine.

"Anderson doesn't deserve you," the voice said. Kurt recognized the voice as belonging to the boy they had encountered downstairs but how? How did he get Blaine's room key? "It's funny what being the floor monitor entails. I only have this position for the month so, I'm going to make good use of it."

Kurt tried and failed to remember the name of the boy and he also tried and failed to regret telling Blaine to go and do whatever he was going to do with his father. It felt as though this boy was just waiting for Blaine to leave him alone.

There was the sound of the lock clicking into place and then what Kurt guessed to be the sound of knuckles cracking. "Blaine has been very inconsiderate. We share around here. It's part of the Dalton way. Proper gentlemen always share and he's being selfish by keeping you to himself, particularly because he isn't using you."

Kurt bit back a retort. This boy would not accept him speaking out of turn, not like Blaine apparently did. He found himself praying for Blaine to come back but if the boy took his advice, he likely wouldn't be for a while. He forced himself not to show fear, another thing that he sometimes got beaten for.

The sound of feet on the floor was enough to tell Kurt that the boy was practically on a march across the room. The next thing the slave knew, a hand had grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. Kurt let out a yelp and the boy slapped him across the face with his free hand.

"Did I tell you you could make noise slave?" he grunted out, his beady eyes staring down at Kurt with intense disapproval. Kurt didn't say anything. "Answer me!" the boy shouted, shaking Kurt harshly.

"No sir," Kurt squeaked out. The boy said nothing. He pulled Kurt off the bed by his hair and threw him against the wall. Kurt bit his lip to keep from crying out. The hit aggravated his chest, despite the bindings that had been wrapped around it.

He didn't move. The boy was unbuckling his belt and reaching for the button and zip on his pants. "On your back slave!" Kurt hesitated just a moment and as a result, was kicked in the chest, the wind being knocked out of him. "Did I stutter?!" the boy shouted. "I said, _on your back_! NOW!" Kurt didn't hesitate this time. He scrambled to flatten himself on the bed on his back.

It was deftly quiet as the boy dropped his belt to the floor and his pants soon followed. Kurt didn't dare look away as he moved to push his boxers down his legs. This boy was certainly nowhere near as good looking as Blaine was. He was scrawny and freckly with a long pointed nose. He appeared to have buck teeth and red hair and for a moment Kurt felt like he might be sick. His first time actually with someone around his own age and he gets the buck toothed beaver.

Why hadn't he noticed what the boy looked like the last time? Probably because he was too busy being terrified. Much like he was now. If this happened. If this boy got what he wanted, than the need of stitches in his entrance may increase by the next day. Just because Kurt had show no signs of hearing the discussion, didn't mean he didn't know what had been decided between Blaine and the doctor earlier.

"Such a pretty property," buck toothed redhead cooed, running a rough hand over Kurt's thigh. Kurt resisted the urge to shudder. "Shouldn't be allowed clothing!" the boy finished through gritted teeth. He tugged harshly at the sweatpants Blaine had put on Kurt and ripped them from the boy's body. There was no way he would be able to wear them again, even if Blaine came to his rescue.

Kurt was scared stiff now. The boy had moved his hand to grab him roughly and tug and Kurt felt himself responding immediately. He bit down on his lip to keep from letting out a sound, anything that could be taken as a means of egging the boy on.

But like so many of his owners, this boy did not waste much time toying with Kurt. He moved to hover over him, pressing the blunt head of his cock to Kurt's overly sensitive hole and Kurt squeezed his eyes shutting, fighting the urge to cry.

Another slap across his face. "I want you looking at me while I fuck you slut!" the boy shouted and Kurt forced his eyes open. His cheeks stung from the slap.

Neither of them caught the sound of a key in the lock and the boy moved his hand to grip a hold of Kurt's chin, squeezing tightly.

"Kurt, Blaine sent me to—Godfried!" came a voice that Kurt was surprised to find he recognized. A glance told him it was Blaine's friend. The Asian boy, whose name Kurt didn't register either.

What happened next happened so fast, Kurt felt like it was all in the blink of an eye. The Asian boy grabbed buck toothed redhead by his lapel as he had only dropped his pants and pulled him off Kurt, flinging him across the room. The gaze in his eyes was so menacing, Kurt was sure if looks could kill buck toothed redhead would be dead in the next second.

Asian boy advanced on buck toothed redhead. "I don't recall Blaine giving you permission to help yourself Godfried." To his credit, buck toothed redhead stood shakily from the floor and laughed darkly in reply.

"I don't need permission Wesley. I am perfectly allowed to take what I desire and Anderson wasn't playing nice," he replied. "I'm teaching him how to share!" he gritted out.

Wesley — Kurt had to remember that — casually stuck his hands in his pockets and walked forward until he was invading buck toothed redhead's personal space. He shoved his nose right into the boy's face, which was enough to cause the other boy to flinch.

"Well than, I guess that means you don't mind a lawsuit for violating another's soul mate," Wesley replied. Kurt saw the other boy's eyes go wide and round.

Right. There was a law that said that if a slave's soul mate had purchased the slave, charges could be pressed against anyone who violated said slave without permission from the soul marked owner. If Kurt was just any slave to Blaine, nothing could be done about it but because he was his soul mate, that meant that once purchased by Blaine, no one had a right to touch him without Blaine's permission, no matter what way it was.

"S-soul mate?" Buck toothed redhead choked out.

"That's right genius," Wesley replied. "Why else do you think Blaine would buy a slave? You're well aware of how against the slave trade he and his family are," he noted next.

This got Kurt thinking. If what Blaine told him was known by other people, maybe, just maybe he had been telling the truth. That depended on if he was clever enough to get his friends and even enemies in on the story. But that also wouldn't make sense because if it was so true that it was all one big façade, Kurt somehow doubted Wesley would have aided him in this situation.

"Now listen closely," Wesley said next. "I suggest if you want the chance of this never getting to Blaine you pull up your pants and get the hell out of here right now. Capeesh?"

Buck toothed redhead didn't need to be told twice, he hustled to pull up his pants, grabbed his belt, and ran from the room. Wesley dropped the cruel demeanor and turned toward Kurt.

"Are you all right Kurt?" he asked gently. All Kurt could do was manage a tiny nod. Wesley turned to see the remains of the sweatpants on the floor. "Good thing Blaine sent me to check on you but it looks like I'm going to have to tell him what happened anyway," he said, frowning at the ruined clothes. Kurt only nodded again. After all, Blaine was his owner, he had the right to know.

Wesley crossed the room to him carefully and cautiously moved the blankets on the bed up over him and Kurt felt an unfamiliar feeling flood his body. He thought it might be something like gratitude. He nodded again.

"I'll stay with you until Blaine comes back. Do you know what he's doing?" Wesley moved to sit in Blaine's desk chair. Kurt wasn't sure he wanted to tell him but he had asked him a direct question.

"Meeting with my father," he got out in a very small voice and Wesley's eyes widened. "Please, don't say anything. It's hard enough telling Blaine I'm not ready yet." The other boy just looked at him for a moment before he gave him a reassuring nod of the head.

"All right Kurt," he replied. "I won't."


	11. Author's Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read guys. It's an update of where I stand right now. I promise I'm not giving up on you guys.

Hi guys, this note is tell you all what's going on right now.

First and foremost, I'd like to thank you all again for your continued support. You guys are awesome and it really means a lot to me.

Secondly, I want to apologize that the next chapter is taking so long. It is in progress right now and my internet seems to be doing better than it was. My issue at the moment is that my motivation for this particular fic is very low and I refuse to give my readers something poorly written just because I want to keep you all.

With that said, I want to make it clear that I am NOT abandoning this fic. I just need to take a step back for a bit and maybe writing something else so I can refocus. I'm not sure how long this period will be but I am hoping to write a few chapters of this fic during that time so that when I do update it, you're not waiting for me to get out the next chapter. I'm going to try and work a little on it everyday.

One thing that makes this fic such a challenge for me motivational wise is that I'm not really a big fan of writing angst, unless it's horror-related. I prefer writing the happy and fluffy and fantasy-like stuff. So the fact that this particular fic is incredibly dark and angsty, much more so than anything I've ever written, is overwhelming me a little bit and I want to make I continue to do this justice.

I can't promise that future chapters when they come will continue to be 3000 - 5000 words as that is a challenge to keep up with too, which would be a lot easier if I had a computer. But I can promise that I will do everything that I can to stay true to my plot and story of this fic.

Finally, things aren't exactly sunshine and daisies in my real life right now. I am facing some issues that ultimately must be sorted out so those will likely take a lot of priority.

I just would like to reiterate that I am by no means giving up on this story. I am just placing it on a temporary hiatus so I can get my focus back and continue to give you all satisfying chapters. Hopefully when I come back to it, I will have more than one update for you to make up for lost time.

Thank you all for understanding. I love you guys! <3


	12. Meeting The Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! New chapter is finally here for you all!
> 
> First off, thank you so much for being patient with me during this time. I had a lot going on and in fact the only fan fiction I really wrote for was the original Klaine fairy tale I wrote specifically for Chris, which after I shape it up, you all shall be getting to see. Yes, I did hand it to Chris as I met him at his NYC book tour stop and he said he couldn't wait to read the fics I gave him and called me honey and it was just the most amazing thing ever! I'll let you all know if he comments to me on it as I left him my Twitter and email in case he wanted to.
> 
> Secondly, I would like to let you all know that I am now indefinitely living in Long Island, New York so no more Michigan for me. I do have access to a computer here so once my mom checks that the antivirus is updated since she doesn't really use it, I can write my fics on there. But this also means I'm spending time trying to find a job as well so I can't promise updates will be quick again. I'll do my best to keep writing!
> 
> Thirdly, I have just learned I'm going to see America's Got Talent live at Radio City Music Hall so that's pretty awesome!
> 
> Fourth, without further ado, I know you've all been waiting a while so here is the new chapter and I hope it's worth it. I do regret to inform you that I believe it's one of the shorter ones but I can't promise they'll continue to be extremely long. I'm trying!
> 
> Anyway, as always comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

Blaine would be lying if he said his mind wasn't stuck on Kurt the whole time he traveled down from the room and to the office to meet with Burt Hummel. He worried about telling the man his son didn't want to see him. He didn't trust the other boys in this school when it came to slaves and he really didn't want to be the one to have to tell Mr. Hummel the bad news.

A part of him did get where Kurt was coming from. But at the same time, Burt was his father, a man who hadn't seen him since the day he was born. Blaine highly doubted he would care what Kurt looked like. He would just be happy to see him.

Still, Blaine couldn't force him. That was probably what Kurt was expecting him to do. It was what any other owner would do. Make Kurt bare himself to his father just so the man could see what a whore of a son he had. Blaine shuddered just thinking about that. No, he had to prove to Kurt that he meant it when he said that he actually cared about him. And if that meant telling Burt Hummel that Kurt didn't want to see him, than that was what he would do. Even though he knew how much it was going to hurt Burt.

Also, he was mentally preparing for the bath he was going to attempt to give the slave after he came back from meeting with his father. He really needed to get Kurt clean and comfortable and he wanted him to be more presentable when he took him to see Doctor Olsson the following day. He wanted him to appear cared for which he was trying his hardest to do because Blaine did care for him.

Even though he had given Wes his room key and asked him to keep an eye on Kurt, he still worried about the slave. Wes was probably the only person he was not completely half-assed about trusting near Kurt. Sure, he knew Jeff and Nick would be okay with him but they were both extremely loud and he could not subject Kurt to that. Loud noise, particularly yelling was a trigger for the slave. It was best if he kept them away from Kurt for the time being. And as for David, Kurt hadn't even met him yet so he was out of the question too. Even with Wes, Blaine hesitated.

The main issue here was that he didn't want to leave Kurt alone in that room. He didn't want to leave him with Wes either. He didn't know what to do. He was conflicted about the whole thing.

He stood by the office, glancing back and forth between the hall that lead to the front door and the stairs that lead back up to the dormitories. Blaine had half a mind to still have the office send Mr. Hummel up to his room and wait there in front of the door instead, as though he were guarding it so that no one could get in to bother Kurt.

A terrifying thought crossed his mind and he had to swallow heavily. Floor monitors. They all had a key that would grant them entry into any of the rooms on the floor. Who was the current monitor on his floor again?

Before Blaine could bring himself to remember who it was, he caught sight of a man dressed in flannel, jeans, and a ball cap on his balding head. He was making his way up the corridor toward the office. Blaine was sure that this must be Burt Hummel.

Pushing the hall monitor thoughts out of his mind, Blaine plastered a charming smile on his face and made his way forward. It was a good thing that he was good at acting because right now, Blaine could feel the touches of a slither of dread beginning in the pit of his stomach. Something was terribly wrong. He didn't know what exactly but he knew that something was wrong. He needed to make this short and sweet.

"Mr. Hummel?" the boy questioned, sticking out a hand as the man made his way toward the office door. He watched the man stop and turn toward him. "I'm Blaine Anderson," he introduced.

Burt looked pleasantly surprised because he certainly was not expecting Blaine to meet him himself. But he took the proffered hand anyway and gave it a shake.

"Forgive me kid, but I thought you said someone would escort me to your room." Blaine bit his lip nervously and rubbed at the back of his head before shoving both hands in his pockets and giving the man an apologetic smile.

"I know I did Mr. Hummel," he began but Burt cut him off.

"Please kid, call me Burt," he said.

Blaine nodded and cleared his throat. "Okay, Burt," he said. "I'm afraid we may have a slight problem," he went on. Burt frowned.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

The sixteen year old sighed and resigned himself to giving the man the news. "Kurt's not ready to see you. He doesn't want you to see him in his current state," he finally managed to say, watching Burt's face for the disappoint he was sure would be there. But the man seemed to surprise him.

"Let's take a walk kid," he said and Blaine, though confused and still battling that growing feeling that something was wrong, just nodded. The two of them began a walk through the halls of the school. "How much do you know about reuniting slave families?" the man asked.

"Not much," Blaine admitted, surprising himself by his own admission. Why hadn't he researched this?

Burt nodded his head and cleared his throat. "Well, let me tell you that Kurt's reaction to all this is not uncommon. Particularly since he was just recently in a bad situation and you're trying to make it good for him," he explained. "My guess is that he wants to make the best impression on me that he can and if he's still very fragile, which I'm guessing he is as you only acquired him yesterday, he's not going to feel he will make one. Do you understand what I'm saying?" he asked.

Blaine stayed silent for a moment. He understood of course but a part of him didn't see how it made sense. And he knew exactly why he saw things that way.

"Wouldn't that mean that after all he's been through, Kurt still harbors a bit of pride?" he asked, astounded that his precious boy could possibly still be prideful.

A small smile appeared on Burt's face. "Some slaves have more resistance than you will ever understand kid, even if they don't show it," he told him. "Besides, no one pushes the Hummels around and even if he never grew up with his mom and I, that fact is ingrained on his heart because he will always be a Hummel."

Blaine found that all this was rather fascinating to him and he became aware that Burt may have been expecting this very reaction. He was prepared for it. Had Blaine known that ahead of time, he may not have worried quite so much.

The man kept talking as the two of them continued to walk. But Blaine was only half listening. Now that the worst was over, his mind had traveled back upstairs to Kurt and the very fact that it seemed to never fail in continuously filling him with that unmistakeable dread. What was going on? Was this just because he didn't feel right leaving Kurt without him? Even with Wes there to watch over him?

When he caught a familiar figure rushing down the stairs, Blaine knew his answer. It was no. His very blood began to boil the moment he laid eyes on the boy. He suddenly felt powerfully protective for some odd reason. The name on his wrist began to tingle extremely warm and that was unusual but at the same time, Blaine knew it was some kind of warning.

"I'm sorry, would you excuse me for a moment?" he said to Burt as politely as his anger would allow.

"Of course kid," Burt replied, sounding genuinely confused.

"Please don't worry," Blaine told him. The man nodded his head and stood still as he watched the boy march straight up to some strange kid he didn't recognize and grab him by the shirt collar.

"Blaine!" the boy cried, voice full of panic. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Don't give me that shit!" Blaine spit darkly, stunning both the boy and Burt Hummel who was watching with curiosity. He slammed the boy against the wall, successfully pulling a whimpering whine from him. "I'm only going to ask you this once Godfried," Blaine went on, voice still incredibly dark. He could feel the heat of his soul mark growing stronger and he knew, he knew Godfried had done something. "And don't you dare lie to me. I will know. Understood?" Godfried hastily nodded. "Good. Now, what did you do to Kurt?" he asked. Burt's eyebrows shot up.

A pitiful whine was the first sound that came out of the boy. "Please!" he choked out next. "Please have mercy Blaine! I didn't know he was your soul mate!"

"That doesn't answer my question!" Blaine growled.

One thing that was still kind of baffling about the whole soul mate thing. The stronger the bond between the soul marked pair, the stronger one half of the pair could feel the emotions of the other half, particularly when said half was positively terrified.

In Kurt and Blaine's case, Blaine's feelings for Kurt were so incredibly rare that the strength of their connection was unable to be severed. The heating of the soul mark on Blaine's wrist was an indicator that someone or something that had caused his Kurt pain was nearby. And his gut was strong enough to pick out what that was. But given the previous trouble with Godfried, that wasn't a difficult task at all.

Blaine slammed the boy against the wall again, glaring daggers at him. "Answer me!" he spit out.

"I…I tried to…have my way with him," Godfried finally got out. "Since—since you had left the room." Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine saw Burt's face harden and the man took a step forward but the teenager held up his hand to stop him.

"What do you mean _tried_?" Blaine questioned.

Godfried swallowed. "Wes came in before I could penetrate him," he squeaked out. Blaine had never been more grateful for Wes. He was going to have to thank the Asian somehow. "But I swear I had no idea he was your soul mate! Please! You have to believe me!"

Blaine narrowed his eyes at the boy. "You will be doing everything I ask you to from now until I say so. Do you understand?" he said coldly. Godfried hastily nodded his head. "Good. The first thing I want you to do is resign your post as floor monitor. Do _not_ say the real reason why," he spit out. Again Godfried nodded. "Go!" Blaine allowed the boy to fall to the floor and he watched him scramble to his feet and run off. "Sorry you had to see that," Blaine said to Burt, relatively calm in his tone.

If masters wanted to punish people for touching their slaves without permission, they were quite welcome to do so. How they chose to do it depended on the person themselves and whatever punishment they felt fit the crime. Blaine was completely within his rights treating Godfried the way he did.

"You don't have to apologize kid," Burt replied, wiping a tear from his face. Blaine gave him a slightly confused look. "You just proved not only that you really truly are Kurt's soul mate but also that you really truly do care about him. Take good care of him, yeah?"

"I promise I'll get him to consent to see you," Blaine replied, but Burt just shook his head.

"Kurt will come around in due time. Just let him build his own courage for it, okay?" he said, placing a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "It's going to be a lot harder for him because he is a sex slave, but he will. Trust me. I know a lot more about how this works kid." Blaine nodded his head. Burt was right of course. The man had been a slave himself and although neither he, nor his late wife, had been sex slaves themselves, they were inclined to understand Kurt's thought process a lot easier than Blaine was.

"Well, take care than," he said, not really sure what else he could tell Burt. He was itching to get back up to his room and inspect the damage done to his Kurt.

Burt gave his head a short nod. "Yeah. You keep me posted on how he's doing all right?"

"I will, I promise," he told him and Burt nodded again. He knew. He knew he could trust this kid. He'd already proven to be so much more than Burt could ever imagine for his son. He prayed that with Blaine's care and support, Kurt would begin to heal and he would begin to learn to love because that was really all Burt could see Blaine wanting to do.

With one more final nod of the head, Burt patted the teenager on the shoulder again and turned to make his leave. Blaine just stood there watching him go before he turned on his heel and hurried up to the dorm.

He hastily flung open the door to find Wes seated in his desk chair and Kurt curled up in a fetal position on the bed and Blaine had to take a deep breath to keep from reprimanding the slave for curling up like that. He knew Doctor Olsson didn't want him aggravating his injuries but at the same time, Kurt has just been through an ordeal.

Wes opened his mouth to say something when Blaine spotted the sweats on the floor, the damaged clothing from Godfried's attack. He snatched them up off the floor, his eyes narrowing into slits before he turned them on Wes.

"Don't even try to lie to me Wesley," Blaine said. The Asian man threw his hands up in surrender. "I already encountered Godfried. It would have been helpful if you had tried to reclothe him for me," he went on.

"I didn't think you'd want me to touch him?" Wes replied, turning a statement into a question as he wasn't quite sure of the point. Blaine just looked at him for several moments. "Or…he wouldn't want me touching him?" Wes questioned again.

Blaine sighed and crossed the room to the bed where carefully perched on the end and moved to wrap the blankets snuggly around the figure lying there curled in a ball. He couldn't help but think as he stared down at the figure of Kurt curled on the bed that they had taken a step back mostly because of that stupid little pervert who couldn't keep his pencil dick in his pants.

But to his great surprise, Kurt shifted, moving to put his head in Blaine's lap but at the same time keeping his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Blaine hesitated before moving his hand cautiously to begin stroking Kurt's head. The slave still for a second before relaxing and allowing Blaine this one comfort.

Wes stayed silent for a few moments before getting the sense that maybe he wasn't wanted in the room. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and stood from his seat, moving toward the door. "I'll just um…let myself out," he said, pausing to wait for Blaine to maybe tell him not to and to hang back instead. But Blaine said nothing. He didn't even look at him. He just kept his eyes on the boy who's head was in his lap and continued to stroke his head. "Right," Wes said and headed out the door.

Silence fell over the room after the door shut behind him. Blaine knew that he still had to thank Wes for at least keeping Godfried from raping Kurt. But right now, all he cared about was being there for Kurt. He still wasn't done with Godfried. He was going to put together a list of things he wanted the asshole to do. He was going to milk this for all it was worth.

Kurt lifted his head slowly and his eyes met Blaine's as the sixteen year old stared down at him, watching him with a concerned expression on his face. He could feel the slave shaking. Kurt didn't say anything. He just laid there staring up into Blaine's eyes.

It was at that moment that Kurt felt like he saw something in the honey-hazel eyes staring back at his own glasz orbs that he hadn't noticed before. He wasn't sure whether it was because he didn't want to believe anything the boy said, or because he refused to look — and really _look_ — into his new master's eyes. Right, Blaine didn't want to be referred to as a master. He just wanted to be called Blaine.

The point was that Blaine's eyes seemed to speak many more volumes than Kurt could have ever realized. There was so much sincerity in them and Kurt found he felt oddly exposed. Not in the way of being naked that he was used to, but in a vulnerable way that Blaine could see into his very soul. It made him tremble with nerves and he forced himself to tear his eyes away from Blaine's.

"Still want me to have that bath?" Kurt asked in a small voice and Blaine almost cringed. He had reverted to weak word speaking as he was describing it in his head. Godfried's attack had taken some sort of toll on Kurt. This was going to be a test of ups and downs.

"I do. But we'll wait a few hours, let you recover a little," Blaine replied and Kurt stared at him again. Was he actually going to give him time to try and calm down from the attack? With everything little thing Blaine did that was different, the slave found himself inching that much closer to believing he really wasn't going to treat him like his former masters.

Still though, the boy didn't want to necessarily get his hopes up. Blaine could be a very good actor and Kurt was still hesitant to believe him or trust him but he was starting to take a few risks. He was curious about how things had gone with the man who was supposedly his father but he was afraid to ask. He didn't know if he wanted to know. He wasn't sure he could handle hearing about the heartbreak he'd caused a man who had driven two hours just to see a part of himself he hadn't set eyes on in seventeen years. In short, Kurt was scared.

But maybe, just maybe, that fear was beginning to edge away just that little bit.


	13. The Second Master Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Guess what? I am actually writing this chapter on a computer! First one ever yeah? I want to thank those of you who have been patient and stuck with me and are still here. That means a lot to me. I am so sorry for making you all wait so much. I don't think you'll have to ever wait that long again but it will likely be a few days between chapters, hopefully no more than a week or so.
> 
> Secondly, this particular chapter will be done in at least two parts and no, they will not be posted back to back. *wink wink* Part two will come later on in the fic. Each book in the series will be broken up by different little stories about Kurt's past masters. Think of these chapters as side stories within the main story. I'm not sure how much longer this particular book in the series will be but I do still intend it to be mostly about the beginning of their time together. So each day will likely continue to be covered by multiple chapters.
> 
> I hope you are all still enjoying this story. One note, I do not actually like reading Daddy!Kink. I really hate it actually so I won't normally write but it felt necessary for this particular part and will come into play again when I continue writing about this master.
> 
> As always, thanks so much for your dedication. Comments and kudos make me smile.

The days in the center passed slowly, or so it seemed upon Kurt’s return. He had only been in ownership for not even twenty-four hours. It was his fault they said. He had caused his master to return him so soon. The thirteen year old learned quickly that trying to plead his case, to tell them that the man who bought him had defied the order and tried to give him to his daughter, was punishable.

Slap! “You will not make up such stories you filthy slave!” the man who dragged Kurt back to his cubicle said. He was quite obviously fuming and the slave was well aware that he was likely not going to get much more than a few slices of bread to eat that day, assuming he was given anything at all.

He hadn't been. Instead Kurt had been taken later from his cubicle to be chained up in the punishment room. He was the only slave who had been returned the day after the audition. And as the memories of spending twenty-four hours chained up as punishment for making his new master so dissatisfied prodded his brain, the pale slave curled into a ball on his mattress a day or so later. He wasn't sure anymore what was expected of him. Was he really meant to have given it up for that girl? The one who wanted to have sex with him? The boy trembled slightly, not at all sure why that would be expected when his forms stated quite clearly that he was not to have any owner who was not male. It was the master who had done the wrong, not him. Yet, Kurt was the one who had been punished for it.

The cubicle door made a sound. A scraping across the floor and the slave cringed. "Kurt Hummel," said a voice. The boy looked up at the woman standing in the doorway. There was a man behind her. A man who was dressed in a crisp suit. He was mid-forties in age and had a shock of red hair atop his head with a beard to match.

"Is this him?" the man asked. His hands were in his pockets and he looked Kurt up and down with a critical eye.

"Yes," the woman responded. "He has not been broken in. Apparently, the first man to buy him at his introductory auction, claimed he would not give out and brought him back the following day.

The man entered the cubicle and walked toward Kurt. his hand reached out and gripped the slave by the chin, forcefully jerking Kurt's face toward him so that he could look the slave in the eye. "Disobedient after all they taught you slave?" he asked. Kurt just stared at him. "Well?!" he ground out.

"Answer him when he speaks to you Kurt," the woman said firmly.

Kurt swallowed and gave his head a jerky shake. "N-no," he got out. "He broke rules. Wanted me to fuck his daughter." He had always been taught to tell the truth.

The man looked over at the woman with a concerned look on his face. "Is that true?" he asked her.

"The owner said nothing about a daughter sir," she replied.

Instead of taking her word as law, the man stood up straight and gave her a critical eye. "Of course he didn't. No man of wealth would ever admit to breaking the rules of a sex slave's contact." She cringed at his harsh tone. Clearly she was not used to being berated. "This slave is meant to be owned by males only, correct?"

"Yes sir," she replied.

"And it states as much plainly in the contract of purchase?" he asked.

"Yes sir," she said again.

The man made a clucking sound with his tongue, pressing it against the roof of his mouth and glanced back at Kurt. "And you make sure your slaves never lie?" he asked.

"Yes sir," the woman said a third time.

He looked at her for a good long moment. "You would do well to investigate your slave's claim. But I will purchase him myself," he said. Kurt was a bit stunned by the fact that this man was seemingly on his side. It was most certainly too good to be true right?

Given what he knew about the slave trade world, Kurt wondered if maybe everything he had been told hadn't been one hundred percent true. Maybe there were decent people in the world. Maybe he would get a decent master. Maybe this man would be it. He had believed Kurt's words, had he not? The thirteen year old boy saw hope, a hope he would realize much later, when he had been in and out of ownership for a number of  years, had been false. It had been ridiculous to believe in such a hope. But at this time, it was only Kurt's second time being sold and he had not yet experienced all the horrors of being in the field.

His thoughts had tuned him out of the interaction between the man and the woman and he found himself horrified when a hand with thick fingers roughly shoved what looked like a pacifier into his mouth.

"Thirteen years is still a baby. You will speak no words, understood?" the man said to him. Kurt nodded his head quickly. The man stroked his beard for a moment. "Except for two. 'Yes' and 'Daddy'. Understood?" he said after a moment of thought. Kurt nodded again. "In words, please."

"Yes Daddy," Kurt said, feeling quite humiliated at the way he was now being belittled. Still, this man was going to treat him better right?

He was soon to learn that perhaps that was not true. The man grabbed him roughly and pulled him from his curled up position on the bed, forcing him to lie flat on his back and to Kurt's horror, he had a diaper in his hands.

"You see this?" the man asked and Kurt just looked at him with wide eyes. The man didn't seem to want a response fore he went on. "If you dare to urinate or otherwise use the floor as a toilet, you will be wearing one of these. Your bathroom will be the backyard, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Daddy," the slave replied quickly, starting to tremble. Okay, maybe this wasn't the best thing after all.

"Are you going to be okay Mr. Porter?" the woman asked. Why did that name strike Kurt as familiar? The man turned to look at her for a moment and Kurt finally caught sight of a briefcase he hadn't realized his new owner had. A very recognizable symbol graced the front of the briefcase.  _Porter Industries_ it read. Of course. Porter Industries was the company that made all the products that people bought for use with their slaves. Their market was the most successful in the slave trade. If this was Mr. Porter, that meant that Kurt had just been bought by the president of the one of the black market's biggest partners. It took all he could not to swallow at the idea. No wonder he had been so adamant about Kurt's claims that his previous master wanted him to fuck his daughter.

"We'll be fine. I'm going to my car. I expect someone to bring him out to me in no more than two minutes," he said firmly, sliding the diaper back into the briefcase. Kurt watched him walk out of the cubicle.

The woman turned to look at the slave and snapped her fingers. In no time, two center hands had arrived at her side. "Rope him and lead him to Mr. Porter's car," the woman said before she turned and walked out of the room. Kurt watched her go.

In the next moment, Kurt found his hands being grabbed roughly and a rope was once more being tied overly tight around his wrists. It took all his willpower not to cringe at the renewing pain. The previous marks from ropes tied there hadn't fully healed and now they were being refreshed. Kurt realized he still had the pacifier in his mouth and he bit down on it hard, actually relieved he had something he could bite in this case.

"Come on slave!" one of the men said, forcefully yanking Kurt off his mattress of a bed and Kurt immediately fell to his knees. It took all his strength to keep up with the quick pace of the men as they started forward. The one pulling him was at least six feet tall and it appeared to Kurt he was covering a foot of distance with every step. The slave could feel the skin of his knees rubbing painfully on the hard floor as he scrambled to keep as close to the man pulling him as he could so as to reduce the pain from the ropes being tugged on. The other man followed behind them, kicking Kurt in the ass whenever he slowed down too much.

They lead him through the halls of the ward and out through to the lobby of the building where the woman was seated behind a desk. She was straightening some papers and adding them to a file. The slave couldn't tell what they were from his position kneeling on the floor.

"Good-bye Kurt. Behave this time," the woman said shortly.

The slave didn't even so much as look at her, his eyes on the floor beneath him, the most obedient position of any slave. He was determined not to cause anymore trouble. He'd been shamed when the other slaves, those who were not currently under ownership had seen him returned a day after he'd been auctioned. He knew most of them had been happy that it was him and not them being subjected to this shameful situation. But this could redeem him. Not very many slaves were sold again within a few days of being returned. Only those that seemed to be in high demand and Kurt was most definitely in high demand. He was an ethereal beauty sex slave after all. He wouldn't be surprised if the center had started a waiting list for people who wanted a turn at him. He bit down on the pacifier again.

The air of the outside world hit him in the face, even with it turned toward the ground as the men lead him out of the building. The pavement of the parking lot was even rougher on his knees than the floor of the building and he bit down on the pacifier in his mouth harder. No doubt his knees would be scraped up by the end of this.

Mr. Porter was standing by his car, checking his watch and tapping his foot. "I said no more than two minutes," he snapped at the men. "That was four!" There was an unmistakable slapping sound and Kurt looked up, surprised to find that both of the men leading him had been slapped across the face. "Next time, you will move quicker. I don't care if it means carrying him!"

Kurt didn't have the opportunity to find out the response of the men who had brought him out. Mr. Porter had moved to roughly pick him up off the ground, yanking the rope from the man's hand and causing the man to cry out as his palm obtained rope burn. Mr. Porter did not apologize.

The slave was carried to the back end of the man's car and a trunk was popped. He swallowed around the pacifier, knowing what was coming next.

Sure enough, he was thrown unceremoniously into the trunk of the car and bit down once more on the baby toy to keep from screaming as his shoulder slammed into the metal side of the trunk. He was tied and crammed into the corner of the trunk and had only a moment to look up at Mr. Porter before he was thrown into pitch dark with the slam of the trunk.

The drive was probably not nearly as long as the first one had been but it was undoubtedly more bumpy. Kurt wondered if they weren't driving over dirt roads or something. He knew it wasn't unheard of for wealthy people to live up private roads well away from the hustle and bustle of the city. They liked all the open lands and acres of quiet and out there, no one would be able to hear him scream. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep from crying at the idea. What if the man decided to take his life? Would he do that to an only thirteen year old slave?

Kurt was barely old enough to be a working sex slave. The idea that his years of service would be cut that short by death only a few days after his debut was terrifying. He hoped Mr. Porter had more sense than that.

His thoughts had roamed so much that he had not realized the car had come to a stop and the sudden burst of light streaming in at him caused him to force his eyes shut against the blind. It hurt them after adjusting to being in the dark for however long he'd been locked in the trunk.

"Come on baby," came the sound of Mr. Porter's voice. Was that what he was going to be calling Kurt from now on? Baby? Kurt had to force himself to resist the urge to shudder. That certainly would have gotten him hit.

Instead of picking him up like a baby, Mr. Porter grabbed a hold of the rope that tied Kurt's wrists together and hoisted him out of the car that way. Kurt couldn't help but whine at the undeniable painful strain the action put on his wrists. Tears leaked from his eyes and one glance at his new master told him this was exactly the response Mr. Porter was hoping for. He  _wanted_ Kurt to cry. He  _wanted_ him to act like a baby. The slave was not sure how he felt about this. He was meant to be the baby in this situation but Kurt had learned so long ago that he wasn't supposed to cry.

That was probably one of the first things a sex slave was meant to learn. That crying would only lead to punishment. They were likely the only people in world who had nearly never cried as babies because they had been quickly taught not to. He knew how unrealistic that sounded.

The idea of a master wanting a daddy/baby relationship with a slave had not been something that had been adamantly taught at the center. In a sense, these days, it was apparently so rare, that most sex slaves were expected to never encounter such a situation in their lives. And actually, it was appalling and most frowned upon it so the fact that Mr. Porter of Porter Industries seemed to enjoy this kind of roleplay was quite surprising and Kurt knew he would have his head if it ever got out. This was a secret the world was not to know.

Mr. Porter proceeded to drag Kurt behind him. He felt the hard ground scratching against his bare body as he was dragged and Kurt's eyes continued to leak tears. The sound of the trunk being slammed shut behind them told Kurt that someone else was closing it for Mr. Porter.

His master walked faster, dragging Kurt up a flight of stone steps that lead to the front door of a massive manner. They were surrounded by trees and acres of open grass fields on all sides. The long drive gave way to a dirt road that traveled far down out of sight and Kurt had to wonder how far from the main road the manor actually was. But he had been right in assuming that Mr. Porter lived away from city life. It was quiet.

As they entered the manor, servants bustled about the house and Kurt caught sight of a slave that was kneeling in the corner. A collar was fixed tightly around the boy's neck and he did not once look up at Mr. Porter as he came into the entrance hall, still dragging Kurt behind him. The boy was wearing a diaper, an indication that he may have recently disobeyed by using the bathroom somewhere that was not the backyard. And Kurt became aware that he was not the one and only slave here. He would be one of who knew how many.

Mr. Porter glanced over to the boy for a moment, coming to a stop. "Baby Stefan," he said with a wrinkle of his nose. "It will be your responsibility to show Baby Kurt how things are done around here, understand?" he asked the boy in the diaper. Stefan looked at Kurt who obediently kept his head down to the floor.

"Yes Daddy," the boy replied.

"Good. Show him where he'll be sleeping." Stefan nodded his head and started crawling across the floor. Kurt took that as his cue to follow the other slave and so he did, knowing perfectly well that Mr. Porter likely did not intend to remove the rope from his wrists just yet.

Stefan lead Kurt through the manor and out a back door to a wide yard. The area was beautifully decorated and had he thought he may have been allowed to, Kurt would have looked around the yard and taken in its decor. Instead, he kept his head down and continued to follow Stefan.

The slave could sense the change of atmosphere almost immediately as the two of them rounded a corner of the house. A foul smell reached Kurt's nose and he became aware that this part of the yard was not as clean and beautiful and well kept as the part he had just crossed through. Evidence of the area having been used as a wasteland was all around him and he realized that the slaves were scarcely cleaned up after, having to live in their own waste. Kurt wrinkled his nose and tried to keep the smell from causing him to hurl.

A shack was set up in this part of the yard. It was full of shelving units that looked no different from barracks in concentration camps. Kurt realized that this was likely where he was meant to sleep. The shack had no door and the walls were made of rotting wood. Several of the barracks had holes in them. The only means of keeping warm was one ratty cotton blanket per barrack. But Kurt was used to having to freeze.

"That's your bed," Stefan said, pointing to one of the wooden barracks in the corner. It was one of the ones that was not infested with holes but to his horror and disgust, Kurt noticed it was desecrated with evidence of dried blood. Someone had lied there after being severely injured. He sucked on the pacifier to keep from swallowing.

Stefan said nothing more but turned around and began making his way back out of the shack. It was clear to Kurt that they were meant to interact with each other as little as possible and he awkwardly crawled over to the bed the best he could with his wrists still bound. He was aware that he was probably meant to stay there and await further instructions from Mr. Porter. After all, the man had said nothing more to him after telling Stefan to show him where he was meant to sleep.

He crawled into the bed, shuddering when his skin moved over the dried blood and curled up into a fetal position. He was wrong. This wasn't going to be better than his first master. If anything, it was going to be much worse.


	14. Bath Time...Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to apologize for going so long without updating this fic. I assure you it was not my intention and it was not forgotten. What happened was my mom's computer died shortly after I posted the last chapter and we were without a computer for a long time. My mom got a desktop but she hasn't been using it because she needs to update the memory so that it can run a program she needs. That still left me without computer access and I really didn't want to revert to using my notepad app again.
> 
> Then I got hired for seasonal at Macy's so I hardly had any free time. I'm hoping they keep me on as a regular employee. Fingers crossed for that but if they do, I'll probably still need another job because if I'm kept as on-call, my hours will drop dramatically and I need to be working as many hours as I can.
> 
> But here is the good news! I am writing this to you all from my own laptop! Yes, you heard me right. I have a Macbook now and it's all thanks to a reader like you! They don't read stories like this one so probably won't see this but I am very grateful to them and I plan on eventually being able to show that appreciation in a future fic. Unfortunately, with all the setbacks, the only writing I've been doing is for RPing. I even failed NaNo this year, only writing the first two days. But I think that's probably because I wasn't as into the idea I had come up with. Oh well, it's only the second time in seven years. No harm done. But I'm hoping to finally get going again!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos make me smile and thanks again for your support!

Even after everything that had happened so far, there was still the issue of the bath. Finishing the cleanup up one slave such as Kurt. Blaine had said they would wait a few hours so Kurt could try and recover what little strength he had gained over the pass twenty-four hours. But that didn't mean that he wasn't worried about bathing the slave. There was still the fact that he needed to actually scrub Kurt and the sixteen-year-old was afraid that even in the gentlest of motions, he would hurt the frail boy. Granted, he was glad Dr. Olsson had at least shown him how to remove and put on the brace she'd place around Kurt's torso to protect his ribs. That didn't help with the fact that he didn't know how he was going to do this while at the same time hurting Kurt as little as he possibly could.

He had entertained the idea of actually just letting Kurt soak in the bath water until all the dirt and grime ran the water amuck. But that would probably include refilling the bathtub a few times and he was quite sure that there was still stuff that would need scrubbing, not to mention, Kurt would end up looking like a wrinkled prune, or worse, at the end of it all.

Blaine hadn't moved from his spot sitting there with Kurt's head in his lap and surprisingly, Kurt hadn't moved his head from Blaine's lap. The sound of the slave's breathing told the teenager that Kurt may have actually fallen asleep. Though Blaine found himself wincing every time he heard the poor boy wheeze. He wished there was something he could do to make the pressure on his bruised lungs ease up a bit. The brace was probably meant to keep his ribs from moving to much but Blaine wondered if there was a way to set cracked ribs too.

But a glance at the clock told him he needed to get Kurt in a bath. It was starting to get late and Blaine had classes in the morning. If he wanted enough time to go through with this than he needed to do it now. And he realized at that moment that he hadn't eaten any more than half a banana all day. He knew he should eat something but he didn't want to leave Kurt alone again. Maybe he could get Wes to go down and get them some food or something. He did still have a little bit of yogurt left so maybe he could feed Kurt that. Though if he could help it, Blaine wanted to not feed him the same thing twice in the same day.

Pulling out his phone, he decided the best thing he could do would be to text Wes and ask for his assistance.

**From: Blaine**

_Hey Wes! Sorry to bother you but could you please do me a favor and get Kurt and I something to eat? I'm going to try and bathe him. Get him chicken broth if you can, with crackers, saltines preferably. I don't care what you get me. I'll leave the door unlocked._

Instead of setting the phone down, Blaine clutched it tightly in his hand, much the same way he had done after the news from Nick the day before. He only had to wait a few moments but it still felt like an eternity. Wes was always quick to reply.

**From: Wes**

_Sure thing man. Is he okay?_

Blaine felt incredibly relieved by Wes' reply. He glanced down at Kurt who still hadn't moved in the slightest and Blaine wondered if he was for once sleeping peacefully. He was happy he at least seemed to be.

**From: Blaine**

_Thanks Wes. I think so. He seems to be sleeping. His head has been in my lap since you left._

**From: Wes**

_Let's hope we can keep him that calm. I mean you._

Blaine just smiled at his friend's reply, setting his phone aside. Now came something he really didn't want to do. He was going to feel horrible if Kurt really was sleeping peacefully. But he had to wake him up. Both for the bath and for food.

Taking a breath, Blaine gently raised his hand and gave a small shake to Kurt's shoulder. The slave stirred, albeit it seemed like an uncomfortable movement but he couldn't tell for sure. Kurt still didn't wake though and for a moment, Blaine almost considered just letting him sleep and trying for the bath the next day before they headed off to the doctor but he didn't want to do that because he wanted to get to the doctor's office as soon as he possibly could. Getting Kurt completely fixed as best as Dr. Olsson could do for him was a top priority for the young slave owner. God he hated thinking of himself like that.

But considering the bath after classes brought another problem to the forefront of his mind. How the hell was he going to manage going to classes while all he could think about was Kurt? And the fact that he just could not bear to leave him alone? It wasn't like he could get Wes to look after him. He had to go to classes too. He was thankful for the fact that Wes had excused him from Warblers' practice for a week but that didn't help with classes.

He knew that other boys at the school had no qualms about leaving their slaves alone in the room while they went and did whatever but those other boys usually didn't care about their slaves. Wes was the only one he knew of for sure that cared about his and by now, no one even knew David was a slave. Granted, David was one of the most mellowest kinds of slaves there were but the point was, Wes still actually cared about him.

Without thinking, Blaine slid off the bed, allowing Kurt's head to fall onto the mattress, an act that startled the sleeping slave and he sat up immediately.

"Blaine?" the slave questioned, voice still that small and wary sounding voice he had been using most of the time. Well, at least it seemed like he wasn't so opposed to speaking out of turn as he referred to it. Blaine thought that was progress until Kurt seemed to realize what he had done. "I'm so sorry! Please don't hurt me for speaking out of turn!" He curled in on himself, weakly throwing his arms up over his head and attempting to shield against the blow he obviously thought was going to come.

"Kurt sweetie," Blaine replied as gently as he could. The frustration was getting to him and he had to summon up enough willpower not to sigh at it. "I told you, you are welcome to speak whenever you want to and I'm not going to hurt you okay?"

The slave stared at him for a good minute before biting down on his lip and turning his head away, staring at the ground.

"I'm sorry...I...it's just..." the frail boy started, seeming lost for words and broken in his very speech, something that was not surprising to Blaine at all. Not in the slightest.

"Just what Kurt?" he asked gently. His frustration beginning to evaporate as quickly as it had come.

Kurt seemed to remain quiet and for a moment, Blaine thought he wasn't going to answer him. "Just you got up so suddenly," he finally said though, voice even smaller than usual. So small, Blaine almost didn't hear it.

It was Blaine's turn to bite his lip. "I'm just really worried, that's all," he said.

The slave, despite never having any form of proper education seemed to be a lot smarter than people gave him credit for. "Worried isn't the word I would choose," he said in reply, voice still small. Blaine became aware that this was beginning to turn into one of the most normal conversations he'd had with Kurt since he'd gotten him and even though they had barely been together more than twenty-four hours, it seemed the boy could already see right through him, read him easily. Blaine didn't know whether to be scared or in awe of him for that.

This time, the sixteen-year-old did not suppress the sigh that threatened to break the silence. He let it out as he moved to start pacing the room, hands going up into his gelled hair and grabbing fistfuls of it at a time.

"I just..." he started, paused, took a breath, and shut his eyes to recollect himself. "I have to go to class tomorrow Kurt but I don't want to leave you here alone. I don't like leaving you alone."

He wasn't surprised by the response Kurt gave him. "Don't," the slave said. "Don't worry about me. I'm not worth all that. I'll be fine." He knew he was lying himself. A part of him didn't want Blaine to leave him but the larger part still said that Blaine's seemingness of caring was all just an act and that he really didn't care about leaving him alone. Kurt also knew that lying to his master was a big no-no and that if Blaine caught him in that lie, he would be severely punished.

His mind's eye reverted back to a time when he lied to a master without meaning to and well, it was one of the other times Kurt felt lucky to still be alive. He quickly gave himself a mental shake, trying to pull out of those memories.

"Bath," Kurt finally said, not realizing how much time had passed. He wanted to just move on and forget about this as quickly as possible.

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "You actually want a bath?" he asked, astounded that he might not have to fight with Kurt on this one.

The slave looked at him for a long moment. "Bath," he repeated, choosing not to elaborate anymore. He was trying to get Blaine off the future and back on the present. If there was one thing Kurt had learned through all his time as a sex slave, it was that he was better off trying to keep his focus on the present moment and not on what might happen in the near or far future.

Well, there was no arguing with that so Blaine returned to the bed and carefully moved to scoop Kurt up in his arms. He was expecting the slave to once more wrap his arms around himself protectively but to his surprise, Kurt weakly wrapped his arms around Blaine's neck. This was progress.

He decided that the best thing he could do was to respect Kurt's wishes to not think about the issue of the next day and just get through the bath he still needed to give him.

Entering the bathroom, the teenager realized that he still needed to actually draw the bath. "Um..." he said uncertainly. "Do you think you'll be okay sitting up a little bit?" he asked. The only thing he could think to do would be to sit Kurt up on the toilet.

Kurt glanced at the toilet, probably thinking he knew what Blaine was trying to ask because there was nowhere else to set him unless Blaine wanted to put him on the ground and Kurt somehow highly doubted his master would even so much as entertain that idea. Wait, was he actually starting to think a little like he believed all Blaine's intentions were true? He gave himself a mental shake. No. He couldn't think like that. He couldn't let himself fall for this again. Blaine was exceptionally good at it. It was hard to tell he was being deceiving. He was way better than any of his past masters had been and the slave found himself ashamed for falling for their acts so easily. Though maybe it was because he had been so desperate for someone to love and care about him, he was willing to believe even the slightest hint that someone was. But not now. Not anymore. He had learned his lesson with that.

In the end, he merely nodded his head in that small barely done way that he had been since the beginning. Blaine realized he probably wasn't going to get anymore than that and so he gently set Kurt down on the toilet, making sure the back was supporting him well enough.

The frail boy resisted the urge to attempt to curl in on himself sitting on the toilet while he tuned out the scene in front of him as Blaine moved to start filling the tub with water. His mind went back into its internal thoughts, which were now starting to question why he had slept peacefully for once with his head in the other boy's lap. It both frightened him and fascinated him at the same time. Frightened him because he worried he was letting his guard down and he really didn't want to do that. But it fascinated him because he couldn't remember the last time he had ever slept peacefully, without the threatening images behind his eyes every time he closed them. If Blaine could do that, could enable him to sleep like that, maybe he was different than the others.

No. Kurt would not let himself think that way. He was tempted to bang his head against the wall as a way of punishing himself. Sometimes, masters preferred to have the slave do all the work. He'd had them sit there and order him to repeated bang his head into the wall. Even when he had nearly knocked himself out. They would slap him if he fell into the slightest state of unconsciousness. Slap him hard and call him a weakling. It would startle him back into full consciousness and then he would have to continue banging his head against the wall. 

Kurt had never wanted to actually punish himself before but now that his own thoughts seemed to be betraying him, he wanted to scold himself. It was a weird feeling and his hands moved to grip the sides of the toilet. He bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting the urge to do exactly what he was thinking he should.

Blaine chose that moment to look up from the bathtub and Kurt realized he'd turned the water off. Kurt tried to force himself to relax but it was no good. His master frowned slightly.

"What are you doing Kurt?" Blaine asked him and Kurt bit on his lip harder still, deciding not to answer even though he had been spoken to. He turned his head away and proceeded to ignore the other boy. This would have gotten him in major trouble with any other master. "Kurt?" Blaine repeated. "Kurt?" he said a third time. The problem here was that he didn't want to yell. Instead, the sixteen-year-old drew a deep breath and decided to just press forward. "Your bath is ready."

The frail boy didn't respond, not physically, not verbally. He wrapped his arms around himself and Blaine just sighed, moving to scoop the boy up and place him in the tub. He had thought that maybe there was some progress made.

It became clear to him then that well, there must have been more going on in Kurt's mind than he even realized. He wanted so desperately to know what the slave was thinking about. Why he seemed to go in and out of making progress with Blaine. But in the long run, he supposed going in and out of progress was better than he thought it would be at this point.

He was well aware that it was true, he was going to be going through a lot of ups and downs with Kurt and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what he was going to be facing in the future. But he was going to have to be prepared for it either way.

As he laid Kurt in the tub, Blaine let his mind drift a bit, returning to trying to figure out what he was going to do about the fact that he was going to have to go to classes and he couldn't very well bring Kurt with him. This was a dilemma.

"Blaine?" called a sudden voice, snapping the teenager out of his reverie. He blinked, realizing that Kurt was curled into that fetal position in the bathtub, the water of which was already murky with dirt and blood. He let out a sigh again, reaching for a loofa and forgetting just from the sight of Kurt that someone had called out to him. Until they called out again. "Blaine?"

"In here Wes!" he called back, suddenly realizing that he and Kurt were no longer alone in the dorm room. The Asian boy poked his head into the bathroom. He was carrying a tray on which sat a bowl with chicken broth, some crackers, and a small plate of spaghetti. Blaine gave his friend a grateful look. "You can put that down on my desk if you want," he told him and Wes gave a nod, retreating from the bathroom long enough to deposit the tray on Blaine's desk.

"How goes it?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe. Blaine's eyes remained on Kurt as he resumed his ministrations. He was trying to figure out how he was going to wash the boy with him curled up in that fetal position. Not to mention, he only just realized he forgot to take the torso brace off. Damn, he was going to have to talk to Dr. Olsson about that when he took Kurt to her the next day.

It took him a moment to reply to the other boy. "Up and down," he said, knowing that of all people, Wes would be the only one who would understand what he meant by that very vague and confusing response.

The Asian boy invited himself into the bathroom and took a seat on the toilet, watching the younger boy as he tried to coax an unresponsive Kurt into uncurling a bit so that he could try to scrub him clean. Wes sat for a moment, hands in his pockets and not saying anything.

"What are you going to do about class tomorrow Blaine?" he finally asked, bringing up the exact dilemma that Blaine was combatting in his head.

A sigh was the first response he got. "I don't know. I've been trying to figure that out," he said, finally looking over at Wes from the bathtub. "I don't want to leave him alone Wes," he admitted. "I know that's what any other master," and he paused to cringe at the word, "Would do but unlike them, I actually care about him." Wes was nodding his head and rubbing his chin in thought.

"I get it Blaine. I really do," he said.

"I don't know what to do Wes," he replied. "It's not like I can enroll him in Dalton." That was out of the question or course.

Wes was shaking his head. "No, it's not. He has no prior education and he is certainly not in any condition to be going to school."

"What's school?" can the sudden small voice of the boy in the tub, making them both jump in surprise. Blaine whipped his head around. Kurt was still curled up in a fetal position but his head was turned to stare at the two of them. Neither boy had any idea he was even listening. Blaine wondered than how many other conversations Kurt might have overheard.

Wes and Blaine exchanged a look. "They don't teach you what school is?" Wes asked, sounding completely surprised and appalled at the same time.

Kurt gave his head the barest of shakes. "No. The only thing they told us was that learning about school was not important because we would never have to go to school."

Again, Wes and Blaine exchanged a look. Both boys were appalled. Other types of slaves had been allowed an education. This gave them the impression that sex slaves were indeed the lowest of the low on the slave trade rank. David's position as a butler-like slave was several ranks higher than Kurt's and yet, it was the sex slaves that were in the highest demands. So why were they treated much worse than any other branch of the black market? It didn't make any sense.

"It's where we go to get an education," Wes stated a moment later, looking slightly sad that Kurt didn't have really much of a clue what school was. Blaine said nothing but went ahead and started to attempt to wash Kurt's hair. To his credit the slave seemed to be too intrigued in the idea of school to actually fight against the hands now massaging shampoo into his head. Though given that Kurt had pressed Blaine for the bath, the latter was willing to bet he probably wouldn't have fought him off anyway.

"Oh," was all the slave said, his voice still as small as ever. "Maybe someday, I can have that."

This sudden burst of hope from the boy was new and unexpected and almost caused Blaine to halt in his ministrations. It was one of those up moments. He was just glad that there were some at least. It gave him his own hope that he could do this. He could fix Kurt. Or rather make him better. He didn't need to be fixed. He wasn't broken.

With a new resolve, Blaine continued gently bathing the slave boy. Things would get better. They would be okay. He was sure of it now.

 


	15. An Unwanted Caller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry to keep you waiting again. I apologize that this chapter is probably so far the shortest in the fic but I couldn't figure out a way to extend it more than it is. I'm going to say now that I probably will be giving shorter chapters than I have been but I'm going to shoot to give you something at least every couple weeks. I do have days off. I'm part-time at Macy's now so I'm moving up but because I'm support, part-time hours work differently than they would if I were in sales. This means that I won't know when I'm working each week until my boss sees what hours are needed for my particular position. I'm pretty sure I'm mostly be there every Monday and Tuesday at least.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this extra bit of drama I decided to throw in, regardless of the fact that it is under 3000 words. In hindsight, for my devoted readers, there is something I'm working on off site for now that I hope you will take a look at when I get it up. And so far, its chapters are even longer than these ones. But it will be a while before I post it.
> 
> Enough of me rambling. Hope you've all had a great start to spring! And yay for the Klaine marriage and baby! xD
> 
> As always, comments and kudos make me smile!

Blaine would be lying if he said he wasn’t still fussed about figuring out how he was going to go to classes and keep an eye on Kurt at the same time. The boy was highly tempted to go ask permission to take him with him to class but that would suggest that he cared about Kurt and while he did care about Kurt, he also knew that Dalton’s headmaster was pro-slave. He would never approve of Blaine bring Kurt to class with him. So what was he going to do?

It was late. He should have gone to bed hours ago. Kurt had managed to keep down about half the bowl of chicken broth, which was good enough for Blaine. He saved the other half for later, deciding he would attempt to crush some saltines and put them in the bowl next time. As for his own dinner, Blaine had hardly eaten any of it. That was how worried the sixteen year old was over the whole situation.

Kurt was curled in on himself on Blaine’s bed, though not nearly as tight as usually. The room was filled with the smell of raspberry shampoo and body wash. Jeff often liked to joke that that Blaine had an unhealthy obsession with the sent of raspberry and maybe he did.

Now that Kurt was clean and more presentable, Blaine could make his features and marks out easier. He hated being able to clearly see the scarring evidence of injuries that had been improperly healed. But what else could he really do? And he had discovered that even though Kurt had been a slave his whole life, his chestnut hair was incredibly soft to the touch. How had it managed to escape severe damage and not fall into the unhealthy hair category like most slaves? Kurt must be a miracle in his own right.

Of course, he would not tell Kurt any of these things. The slave could take it all the wrong way, maybe think that Blaine was insulting him which he would never ever do. But Kurt wouldn’t know a compliment from an insult anyway, much as it pained Blaine to admit it.

He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was curled up on the floor, knowing that it was going to give him a bad back in the morning but seeing as he was having trouble actually sleeping, that might not be a problem.

Blaine turned his eyes on the ceiling, deciding to give up on his thoughts of what to do with Kurt when he had classes tomorrow and try counting sheep. It was lame, but he needed the sleep. He’d had a trying weekend.

It was weird to feel so exhausted and yet wide-awake at the same time. How was that even possible?

The curly haired boy turned over onto his side and stared up at the bed where Kurt was curled up, not moving in the slightest. He watched the slave’s side heave with the effort of breathing as the boy was turned facing the wall, which was away from Blaine. It became clear that whenever Kurt curled in on himself, he always seemed to face the wall and most of the time, it meant he was turning over the same way. Maybe Blaine should rearrange his dorm room so that Kurt couldn’t necessarily face the wall at all. But would the slave look at that as Blaine forcing him to look where he didn’t really want to?

Another sigh left the boy’s mouth and he turned away from the bed. Watching Kurt try to sleep was painful for him. He consistently whimpered periodically, which to Blaine, indicated the slave was having nightmares. Great. He was having nightmares and the only Blaine could comfort him was if he were holding him. But Kurt had been adamant after his bath that he didn’t want to be touched at all and Blaine was surprised that the slave hadn’t started immediately apologizing like he usually would when he realized he did something that was disobedient. As far as Blaine knew, a sex slave had no rights to not be touched. They were a sex slave after all. But even so, Blaine intended to grant those wishes to Kurt. He wanted to call him something like baby or darling or anything endearing like was just natural when you were in love.

In love. That was weird to think. Blaine wasn’t sure if he was already in love with Kurt because they were soul mates or not. He wasn’t sure how to explain it.

His eyes darted back to the slave on his bed. Kurt was so frail and fragile and he looked rather sickly and well, even through all that, Blaine thought he was the most beautiful boy he had ever seen. He was constantly thinking about how that will increase once Kurt is fully healthy. But it saddened him that Kurt was so sure that would never happen.

Blaine knew. He knew Kurt didn’t think he was genuine. He didn’t blame him. He would probably be just the same if the roles were reversed. He sighed a third time.

His eyelids were finally beginning to grow heavy and Blaine was looking forward to actually getting some sleep. He heard Kurt whimpering again though and it caused him to sit up, wondering if maybe he should attempt to wrap the slave gently in his arms.

He was just getting up to do that because he couldn’t just let him continue to whimper in his sleep when their came a pounding on his dorm room door. Blaine froze and the noise was so loud it startled Kurt.

A whine escaped the slave on the bed and a glance over at him told the teenager that Kurt had grabbed the sheet and pulled it completely over himself. Anger flashed through Blaine. Who would do such a thing? His hands balled into fists as he could see now that his slave was trembling on the bed. He was fearful, only this time, it was from waking things rather than images in the dead of sleep at night.

The pounding came again and Blaine stormed toward the door. He unlocked it and pulled a crack open. There was a bulky teenage boy who obviously did not go to Dalton standing there, one fist raised as though posed to pound again.

“Can I help you?” Blaine spit out at the boy rather coldly. The boy gritted his teeth. Without being invited, he forced the door open, knocking Blaine to the floor.

“Where is he?” the boy spat. It didn’t take him long to find the trembling form on the bed. “Ah, there he is. My piece of meat.”

“Excuse you?” Blaine got out, his voice going incredibly dark as he folded his arms across his chest and marched across the room to the bed, standing in front of it like he was a safe guard.

The boy gritted his teeth again. “If you know what’s good for you, you will move out of my way.”

Blaine wasn’t at all affected by this boy. He’d dealt with idiots like him his whole life. His eyes narrowed into slits, accompanying the now bored expression he wore on his face. He yawned and stayed put right where he was.

“Oh really?” he asked, not at all seeming frightened by the boy. “And if you don’t want to be charged with a federal offense, I suggest you leave, now,” he added, tone just as dangerous as the other boy’s if not more so.

Blaine didn’t care that this boy was bigger and probably stronger than he appeared to be. He knew a jock when he saw, the same kind that had beat the living daylights out of him that night at the Sadie Hawkins dance. Well Blaine had taken up boxing since then. Not to mention, he was the founder of the Dalton fight club, which was supposed to be kept under wraps. No one but the members of the club knew about it. Of course, most of the members consisted of his friends in the Warblers so he knew he could trust them to keep the secret. Even if he did worry a bit about Jeff.

The boy raised an eyebrow and stared at Blaine for a moment before he burst out laughing.

“I can’t be charged with a federal offense for touching my soul mate,” he said, producing his wrist. To Blaine’s horror, Kurt’s name was written across the guy’s wrist and well, true, he had a point. But at the same time, Blaine also knew the loophole here.

He realized as his sly smirk – an unusual look for Blaine – slid into place, this was the boy who had previously tried to purchase Kurt and had been turned away because the soul marks didn’t match.

“Well, I regret to inform you that he is also my soul mate,” Blaine said smugly, showing his own soul mark.

For a moment the boy was speechless. Out of the corner of his eye Blaine could see that Kurt was shivering even more on the bed. Did he recognize the guy without even seeing him? Blaine wasn’t sure and he considered talking to Kurt about it later, assuming he could get the boy to talk to him.

After a moment, the other boy let out an angry growl and slammed his hand into a lamp, knocking it off the table and sending it crashing to the floor.

“Well done,” Blaine said sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the boy. “You now owe Dalton a couple hundred dollars.” He clapped to add to his false cheeriness over the matter.

The smell of the boy’s putrid breath filled the room as oxygen flared out of his nostrils and through his still gritted teeth. It took all of Blaine’s willpower not to let the horrendous smell affect him.

“Why did they let you purchase him?” the boy spit out, glaring Blaine up and down.

This was the part where Blaine would get even more smug because well, he knew something about slaves and soul marks that this boy apparently did not. He wondered for a moment if the people at the center had even told this boy that the marks didn’t match. He was under the impression that they would be much more willing to kindly service someone who showed such viciousness in their desire to own a slave. But maybe he was wrong about that.

Blaine narrowed his eyes for a moment and studied his nails casually. “Because the name on his wrist is mine,” he said casually.

The boy glanced from Blaine to Kurt who was still shaking on the bed and back again. “Impossible!” he spat. “Why would the fates give a creature as beautiful as that someone as puny as you?”

This struck a chord with Blaine for some reason. Never before had anyone ever called him puny. Sure there had been jokes made about his height and his compact stature but no one had ever seriously bullied him because of his size. He narrowed his eyes and looked at the other boy dangerously. Blaine opened his mouth when a small voice beat him to it.

“He’s not puny,” came the whimper. Both boys froze and turned to look toward Kurt. The slave had not moved from his position on the bed, the sheet still covering his form and he was still shaking but it was obvious the words had come from him.

“What did you say slave?” the bigger boy grunted.

To Blaine’s surprise, Kurt forced himself out of his curled position and into his respectful kneeling position. The other boy seemed momentarily appalled that there were rather loose pajama bottoms hanging off Kurt’s hips. Blaine refused to let him remain completely naked.

“I said,” Kurt repeated, giving his voice as much power as he could muster. Even that pride was still there, with the small voice that Kurt still couldn’t make louder. He knew how to be authoritative in his own right and the only time he’d gotten loud was when he’d had that outburst at Blaine. “He’s. Not. Puny,” he said, annunciating each word as if it were its own sentence. Blaine had never heard Kurt speak with such conviction before. It was strange with the fact that his voice still came out incredibly small. He was surprised the slave had this in him. “I didn’t stutter, did I meathead?” Kurt dared to say.

A growl left the boy’s mouth. “You will do well to respect your master slave!” he shouted. Blaine could tell that Kurt was indeed frightened but he was doing his best not to show it, holding his fragile frame as high as he could.

“Mm,” the slave stated in that same small voice. “I do respect my master. But last time I checked, you weren’t him,” he went on. Blaine was impressed. He’d never seen a slave be this daring before and he was certain Kurt wasn’t going to be the first. Was he defending Blaine? Did he care about Blaine after all? Or was he just trying to show some kind of courage about the whole thing?

Whatever the case was, the last straw had been snapped for the bigger and he launched himself toward Kurt. “I’m going to pound your face in!” he shouted.

Just before his fist could come down on him though, Blaine caught it with ease. His fingers tightened their hold around the much bigger hand and the boy stared at him in surprise. Kurt was once more cowering a huddled tremble, fearing the hit he was sure would come.

“If you lay one finger on him, I will have you arrested for assault,” he said darkly.

The boy decided then was the perfect time to spit in Blaine’s face. Blaine reminded himself to go scrub his face like he never had before after this.

“You really think the police will care about assault on sex slave?” the boy asked in response. It was true though. Normally, the cops wouldn’t do anything. But there was that loophole.

Another smirk played itself across Blaine’s face. “They will after I prove Kurt and I are soul connected,” he stated.

That had the other boy halting. He knew that Blaine had a point. If he could prove that he and the slave were soul mates, it was entirely possible that he could have anyone who attempted harm on Kurt without his permission, charged for a federal offense.

“Than give me permission or I will beat your face in,” he sneered, knowing this would be the only way around this issue.

“I’d like to see you try,” Blaine replied daringly.

The other was silent for a moment before he burst out laughing. “You really think you stand a chance against me?” he asked in disbelief.

“I easily caught your fist just now didn’t I?” Blaine replied easily. That shut the other boy up. He was right. He had easily caught his fist.

The boy came closer, so close Blaine could feel his putrid breath right in his face. “This isn’t over,” he said before turning and stomping out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Blaine visibly relaxed but there was no way he was going to be able to sleep now. He was going to have to put in a call to the school nurse in the morning and feign sick. Actually, he thought she might be understanding of the actual situation but he didn’t want to take that chance.

That brought another thought to mind. Dalton was heavily guarded with security. How the hell did this boy get passed them and up to Blaine’s room with seemingly no trouble? And furthermore, how did he know where to find Kurt?

Blaine’s eyes went to the slave who was once more curled in on himself and trembling. He knew the boy was still awake. One thing had crossed Blaine’s mind so thoroughly at the moment that his blood ran cold.

Kurt was not even going to be safe at Dalton.


	16. In The Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait, what's this? The new chapter much sooner than the last two have been? Is this really happening?! *mind boggles*
> 
> Hi guys! Yes, this is another chapter and again, it's less than 3000 words but at least it's something, right? I know everyone has been asking about part 2 of the second master so I'll be working on that chapter next I think and then after that, we'll go to the doctor with Kurt and Blaine. At this point, I'm still not sure how long this first fic is going to be. I might bring it to a close soon because I did mean for the first one to mostly be about their beginning together. As such, it's possible that bigger progress will not be made in this fic but in a succeeding fic. So you may have to wait for that first kiss. It might mean removing some of the tags for this fic because that stuff isn't actually in this one but I might leave it as it will come up eventually in the series.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you are all well and despite it's shorter length, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Comments and kudos make me smile!

Kurt was not exactly thrilled with the night’s events. He knew he had acted out of line and he was tempted to slam his own head against the wall. He was still waiting for Blaine to scold him for what he did but the scolding never came. Instead, when he finally dared to look toward the boy who was his master, he found him pacing the room so hard Kurt wouldn’t be surprised if the teenager wore a hole in the floor. For one odd moment, he wished he could pace like that but the slave couldn’t even support himself when standing. It would be ages before he managed to walk.

He wanted to ask why Blaine wasn’t sleeping, what was bothering him now, how he was seemingly wide awake even though the hour was late or early depending on how you looked at it. But he couldn’t bring himself to find his voice. He was terrified of getting in trouble with Blaine.

Instead, the slave curled in on himself again and tried to resist that overwhelming urge to slam his head into the wall. If Blaine wasn’t going to punish him, that meant he had to punish himself.

Kurt was no stranger to having to punish himself. He’d had masters before that made him do so, in a matter of different ways. These included banging his head into walls, slitting his wrists, playing the choking game – this consisted of tying something like a necktie around his own neck so tight it restricted his ability to breathe, cutting off his windpipe and successfully, choking him – and various other forms of self torment. The first time he’d had the choking game punishment, Kurt could not believe there were kids out there that decided this was a form of thrilling fun. But sadly there were and kids had definitely died from it. He only knew this because his master at the time had forced him to read all the information about it so that he “did it right” and Kurt had been appalled. He was terrified that he would do it to the point where he would choke himself to death and then the master wouldn’t even care.

He knew how slaves that didn’t survive were disposed of. Most of them were returned to the center and then the staff at the center would casually dump the bodies in an open hole in the back. The stench wreaked of decaying flesh and Kurt was glad he never had to go back there. He heard someone say once that it was like when Europe suffered the plague in the sixteen hundreds. He had no idea what that meant. Maybe Blaine knew.

“Blaine?” Kurt got out in a small voice, only slightly cringing of his use of addressing his master so casually.

Blaine started. It was clear he hadn’t realized Kurt was awake. “Yes Kurt?” he asked, looking toward the slave who was still facing the wall.

Kurt took a deep breath. “What’s the plague?” he asked.

Whatever Blaine had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. For a moment he stared in wide-eyed surprise before carefully moving to the bed and perching himself on the edge of it. “Something that doesn’t exist anymore,” he started, thinking that casually brushing it off would put Kurt’s mind at ease. “Why do you ask?”

Kurt shifted uncomfortably, removing the sheet so he could finally look at Blaine and it was strange seeing him actually look at him of his own accord. The slave hesitated, not sure if he should really let Blaine in on what he knew or not.

“When a slave dies,” he said and that perhaps wasn’t the best choice of words to begin his explanation because Blaine cringed severely and Kurt bit his lip, hesitating yet again before he continued. “When a slave dies,” he repeated. “They are brought back to the center and then the staff carelessly dumps their body in a wide open hole out back. I heard someone say it was like they used to do during the plague,” he explained.

Blaine looked horrified. How could anyone dispose of someone’s body so carelessly? He thought even slaves deserved a proper burial. They were still people after all.

The sixteen year old drew a deep breath and Kurt eyed him with anticipation.

“When the plague broke out in Europe, countless people died. They didn’t have the kind of medical technology we have now. They were still centuries away from it,” Blaine explained. “Whenever someone died, the body would be loaded on to a cart and then driven to be dumped in a hole with other victims.” Kurt’s eyes went wide at this information.

“So, they think our dead are full of contagious disease?” the slave asked.

Blaine wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Kurt had a point. The dead in the plague were buried together in open holes because of how contagious and severe the outbreak was. Millions of people lost their lives and it was unheard of that anyone would have survived the dreadful disease. It was worse that there were different forms, the most common of which was bubonic plague.

“No Kurt,” Blaine said. “They buried the dead that way because they had no idea what else to do with them.” He paused for a moment before saying something that was hurtful for him, but nonetheless true. “I believe the people at the center dispose of your bodies that way because they don’t care about you.”

Kurt said nothing. He knew Blaine was right. Nobody cared about him. Nobody cared about any of the slaves at the center.

“But I _do_ care about you,” Blaine went on. Kurt just stared at him. The slave wasn’t sure how to react to that. For a moment, he wondered what Blaine was trying to prove. Was he really so invested in the charade that he wanted to make Kurt believe he really honestly did care about him? Or was there actually truth to the way he felt? Kurt wasn’t sure. Even if a small sliver of his being wanted to trust Blaine that tiny bit, he still vowed to keep his distance. He had only known the boy for about two days. That wasn’t enough to prove anything, Kurt decided.

The slave turned away from Blaine and curled in on himself again. He heard Blaine let out a sigh.

“Why Kurt?” Blaine suddenly asked and Kurt felt his whole body go rigid with tension.

“Why what?” he said in a timid tone of voice, scared of what the answer might be.

Blaine was quiet for a moment. “Why do you not feel like you can trust me? Have I not proven I’m different from all your other masters?” Kurt felt the tension in his body tighten even more. Without turning to face Blaine again, he decided on the best coarse of response.

“I told you. Many of them played games like this. The whole pretending to care charade,” he said finally, mostly bringing up some of the points made clear in his outburst.

Blaine didn’t reply right away. “But this isn’t a game for me Kurt,” he said and the slave could hear the desperation in his voice. It was as though Blaine was desperate to get his point across.

“That may be,” the slave replied quietly. “But you have to look at the situation from my point of view. Would you be so quick to believe that when all of the past times had been games and false pretenses?” he asked. “Put yourself in my skin,” he added.

“I think the expression is ‘put yourself in my shoes’,” Blaine corrected him.

That was enough to get Kurt to turn and look at him. “Yeah well, I don’t have shoes,” he said point blank, snorting in such a way that a gust of air blew right out of his nose. Blaine regarded him for a moment before he burst into laughter. Kurt gave a haughty noise and burrowed back into his fetal position.

“I’m so sorry Kurt,” Blaine said through chuckles that were dying down in the next few moments. “But you snorting like that reminded me of that time my uncle took me to a bull fight,” he explained.

“Your uncle took you to a bull fight?” Kurt asked in surprise. Blaine nodded before he remembered that the slave couldn’t see him.

“Yep,” he replied.

“I thought those were only in Spain,” the slave deadpanned, his voice still small. Blaine was just pleased that either way, the boy was still talking to him. This had to be one of the longest conversations they had ever had.

Before the sixteen year old could reply though, his alarm went off. Six o’clock was ringing throughout the room and Blaine frowned.

Kurt’s reaction to the sudden noise was immediate. The slave brought his hands up to his head and clamped them down over his ears, letting out a high-pitched wail. Blaine had not anticipated even something as simple as an alarm would scare him.

“I’m so sorry Kurt,” the boy said, rushing to pick up his phone and shut the noise off. “I didn’t know it would be too loud for you,” he admitted, regret lacing his tone.

Kurt was now rocking back and forth in his awkward fetal position on the bed. “Don’t like loud noises, don’t like loud noises, don’t like loud noises,” he muttered over and over again. A thought crossed Blaine’s mind then. If Kurt didn’t like loud noises, how was he going to react to the sound of sirens when cops and firemen and ambulances drove by? Maybe Blaine should submit a request for heavier windows to block out outside noise. But he was afraid that too would be cause for suspicion from the headmaster of Dalton.

Phone still clutched in his hand, Blaine began his pacing once more. Kurt’s hearing was so sensitive that he could hear the padding of Blaine’s bare feet against the carpet. It dawned on the slave suddenly that he had never seen Blaine wear socks.

“Do you own any socks?” he asked suddenly, voice still trembling because of the noise of the alarm that had gone off. From his spot on the floor Blaine could tell that Kurt was still holding his hands over his ears. Wow, he really did have impeccable hearing. But the question was yet another one that caught the boy off-guard.

“Um…” he said, not even sure how to respond. The slave had probably never owned socks in his life, so why did it seemingly matter to him whether Blaine owned any or not. “I do. I just don’t really like to wear them,” he said.

There was a moment of silence, the tension in the room building and Blaine bit his lip. He wasn’t at all sure what Kurt was going to say. “Maybe you can give them to me?” the slave prompted in the tiniest voice Blaine had heard him use yet. He was asking for clothes. Kurt was actually asking for clothes and Blaine felt this was the biggest breakthrough yet.

“Are your feet cold sweetie?” he asked the slave. Kurt carefully rolled over and peeked up at him from beneath his sheet.

“My whole body is cold, always cold, especially in winter,” he said. Blaine felt a pang in his heart. Of course Kurt was cold. He was stark naked and didn’t own a shred of clothing. Blaine was tempted to smack himself in the forehead for letting his information slip. Not to mention, the slave was very thin and the skinnier you were, the colder you felt, even if it was really warm in the place, like it was in Blaine’s dorm at Dalton. The school had an excellent heating system.

The teenager once more approached the bed. He reached out a tentative had to give Kurt’s head a reassuring pat. “We’ll fix that. You won’t ever have to suffer so much cold again,” he told him softly. Kurt just stared up at him, not at all sure how to gage what Blaine’s words meant but not wanting to do anymore than hope for a better life.

No, no he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let himself believe there was a chance that things would be better for him. Kurt tore his eyes away from Blaine and rolled back over to face the wall again.

“Don’t you have classes to attend?” he asked and this was a sure sign to Blaine that the slave had once again, closed himself off to the experience of being cared for and he forced himself not to sigh at the thought. How was he going to get Kurt to even submit to the possible belief that things would get better? He didn’t know and to be honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to spend time trying to figure it out. The hunger in his body that wanted to just love on this boy became stronger with everything he learned from the slave. Not love in the physical and ravishing way, but love in the gentle and tender I’ll take care of you way. He wanted to stroke the slave’s hair and kiss his cheeks, his eyelids, that cute upturned nose of his, his forehead and his lips, most of all his lips. But that was the one place Blaine didn’t dare try to kiss, not while Kurt was still closed off from him. It would only be a setback, not progress.

The teenager yawned slightly and shook his head, glancing down at his phone. “I’m staying here today. I didn’t sleep at all last night and the last thing I want is to be falling asleep in class,” he said. Sure, that was true, but Blaine decided it was probably smart not to tell Kurt the other reason he wasn’t going to class. Because he didn’t want to leave the slave alone and surely another day would help him figure out what to do.

“What about Doctor Olsson?” Kurt asked suddenly. Blaine had almost forgotten the appointment what with everything else going on.

The boy paused for a moment. “I’ll try and get some sleep between now and after classes. But we’re not missing that appointment Kurt,” he told the slave firmly. The tiniest of nods was the response he got.

“Good.” That took Blaine by surprise. Kurt actually wanted to see the doctor? 

“Good?” he questioned.

“Good,” Kurt repeated and said nothing more. Blaine guessed he was done conversing and just wanted to be left alone. The sixteen year old stared at his phone before disappearing into the bathroom to call the school nurse and let her know that he wasn’t going to be in classes that day.

It was going to be a long day. That much was certain. But Blaine was determined to make the most of it and get Kurt to believe that yes, he did care about him and yes, he could trust him. He wanted to start taking steps forward and not any steps back.

This might be harder than he thought but the boy was definitely up to the challenge.


	17. The Second Master Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here it is! But looks like this will have a part 3 at some point. *snickers* Anyway, now for the exciting news I mentioned in that comment. Are you ready?
> 
> Wednesday night, I met DARREN!!! I went and saw him in his opening night as Hedwig on Broadway and hot damn, baby is freaking sexy in that show. I am so going again while he's still in it. Probably multiple times. And forgive me if I had ulterior motives for using my mom's binoculars. *shifty* And I got to meet him at the stage door part afterwards. So many other people were there but like I told him he was the reason I chose Hedwig as my first show to see on Broadway.
> 
> So now I've met both Chris and Darren and I will again, I promise you.
> 
> Anyway, as always enjoy the chapter. This one isn't quite 3000 words but it's longer than the two previous chappies I believe. Comments and kudos make me smile!

If there was one thing Kurt wondered as he lay there on the dried blood barrack, it was how in the world did Mr. Porter handle the slaves being covered in the foul smell from the surrounding area of the shack? He could already tell that his knees must have scrabbled through someone’s desecration because he could smell it on him. It took all of his will power not to wrinkle his nose and scour for some form of water to scrub the stuff off him. But that would have been counterproductive, what with the fact that he would have to move back through it once more.

“Who are you?” came a sudden voice, startling Kurt and he looked up. There was another boy kneeling on the floor of the shack. He had blonde hair that was growing just this side of too long and was staring at Kurt inquisitively.

Kurt hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to remove the pacifier, nor how he was supposed to do so with the ropes still tied around his wrists.

“That’s Baby Kurt,” Kurt heard Stefan’s voice say as the other boy came crawling back into the shack. “He’s new,” he added. Kurt watched him cross the shack and crawl into one of the top barracks on the other side. He noticed that the boy’s diaper had been removed and there appeared to be fresh whipping marks on his hindquarters. Stefan curled up into a fetal position, a common move for any slave, and tucked himself under his ratty blanket. He said nothing more, turning away from both Kurt and the blonde boy whose name he didn’t know.

Said blonde boy looked back at Kurt with a sorrowful look on his face. “I’m sorry for you,” he said before turning on his knees and crawling back out of the shack.

Kurt couldn’t help but to wonder what he meant by that. Why should he be sorry for him? The boy moved to curl into his own fetal position and stared at the rotting wood of the wall, trying not to think too much about the bloodstain he was lying on and awkwardly sucking the pacifier in his mouth. It was weird. The baby toy seemed to bring him a kind of comfort the likes of which he had never known before.

Kurt wasn’t sure how much time had passed but he suddenly felt his eyes pop open at the sound of a shout. When had he drifted off to sleep?

The blonde boy from earlier was scrambling back into the shack, followed by none other than Mr. Porter himself and Kurt was surprised the man would even set foot in this part of his yard. It was foul and nasty and well, he could only imagine that Mr. Porter would rather send a servant there than come on his own.

Those thoughts went out of the slave’s head when he noticed the paddle Mr. Porter brandished in his hand toward the blonde boy and he gripped ahold of the barrack bed he had been curled up on, not sure if he wanted to know what was going to happen next. He was gripping the rotting wood so tightly, his already pale knuckles were even whiter and he was quite sure splinters from the decaying barrack bed were embedding themselves in his fingers, not that he really noticed.

“Next time I tell you to bend over the kitchen table you will do it, won’t you Baby Micah?” Mr. Porter growled. Kurt’s eyes caught Stefan’s when the boy stared at him briefly before turning his eyes away sharply. A glance around told the thirteen year old that they weren’t alone in the shack anymore. More of the barrack beds were filled. Some of the slaves were wearing diapers, indicating that they had not been obedient in the potty rule. Kurt swallowed. “Answer me!”

“Y-yes Daddy,” Micah replied, a terrified and wild look in his eyes.

“Did I say you could stutter boy?” Mr. Porter gritted out. Micah shook his head. Apparently, this was not a question that required an answer. Kurt took note to remember that Mr. Porter had told him he was only to use two words when speaking. So if the answer to a question was no, than did that mean he was not meant to actually speak the word? “Didn’t think so. Now, you are going to be a good baby and take your punishment in front of your siblings,” he went on.

Siblings? Kurt dared another glance around the barracks. These boys were meant to be his siblings? He didn’t know any of them, hadn’t seen them before at all. He was beginning to wonder if the soul center wasn’t the only one in the country Mr. Porter had been getting his slaves from.

“This is only one of his homes,” whispered a voice from beside him and Kurt whipped his head around, just noticing the Asian boy that lay beside him. The boy was around Kurt’s own age but since he couldn’t recall ever seeing him at the auction, he had to have come from another center. He had kind looking eyes. There was a red branded mark around his upper forearm. Kurt stared for a few moments. He knew what the branded mark meant. He’d learned about them but he’d never seen one before. Not in reality anyway.

Taboo. The boy was a taboo slave. In other words, he’d been born as a result of sexual acts between a non-slave and a slave. Rarely did these children survive and Kurt was pretty sure that this boy was so seemingly kind because he could be a lot worse off than being here as the slave of the head of the most important company in the black market. He could be lying in a grave somewhere. Most of the ones that were allowed to keep their life were either bought into survival by a hefty sum by someone who wished to keep them alive or…they were like Kurt. Born a sex slave that was. And the only way a sex slave was allowed to die was by natural causes or at the hand of their master. Sick, true, but that was the way it was.

For a moment, the Asian boy wondered what Kurt was staring at and then he followed his gaze. “Oh, right, that,” he mentioned.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Kurt sputtered. “I didn’t mean to stare.” The Asian boy shook his head and waved it off.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I know what that mark means. I know what I am. I know how I was born. And I also know very few slaves will ever see a real one of my kind,” he went on. His voice was still a whisper and even though Kurt could barely hear it over the shouts of Baby Micah on the floor of the shack as Mr. Porter paddled his behind raw, he was grateful that at least, no one seemed to be able to hear them. The Asian boy stuck out a hand. “I’m Michael Chang. You can call me Mike. I was born of a non-slave father and a slave mother,” he explained. “And yes, I am a sex slave. My soul mate is a girl named Tina Cohen-Chang,” he finished.

That had Kurt pausing for a moment. “Wait a second,” he whispered back. “If your soul mate is a girl, why were you allowed to be purchased by a man?” he asked.

Mike sighed, still keeping his volume low so as not to attract the attention of Mr. Porter. “Those rules don’t apply to taboos. We get even less privileges than you non-taboo slaves,” he said. Well, that was something the center had neglected to teach them about the taboo slaves. Kurt wanted to yell. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throttle someone. He wanted to…hey wait, how was he talking?

Kurt suddenly cast his eyes around him, realizing for the first time that the pacifier was not in his mouth anymore. It must have fallen out when he had been sleeping. Sure enough, he found it lying in the barrack bed beside where his head had been laying on the rotting wood. He was so glad there were no holes in his barrack. The last thing he wanted was to have to suck a pacifier that had landed on the ground. No, he was not going to make himself sick. He’d get punished for that for sure.

He was just trying to figure out how to get it back into his mouth without the use of his hands when he found that Mr. Porter’s attention had been switched to him. He must have finished paddling Micah.

“Awww, did Baby Kurt lose his pacifier?” Mr. Porter asked and Kurt stilled, not knowing whether this would get him in trouble. “Baby Mike, help your new brother by putting his pacifier back into his mouth,” he said to the Asian. Kurt blinked and turned his head toward Mike. The boy gave him an apologetic look before he picked up the pacifier and pushed it back into Kurt’s mouth. “Good boy Baby Mike,” Mr. Porter praised after Mike had done what he asked. He then gave Kurt his full attention. “Now Baby Kurt, I think it’s time for you to learn about playtime here,” he said. “Would you like that?”

Kurt wouldn’t really like anything of the sort but there was no way he was going to do another walk of shame and punishment by being returned to the center again only a day after he had been bought. So, he swallowed around the pacifier in his mouth and nodded his head, knowing that trying to speak would not sound clear.

“Good,” Mr. Porter said and he reached out a hand to stroke Kurt’s head in what he thought was a loving gesture but really only made Kurt feel sick to his stomach.

Taking the ropes that were still tied around Kurt’s wrists in one hand, Mr. Porter pulled a bottle from his pocket with the other and tossed it at Mike. “Dinner Baby Mike. You’ve earned it today,” he said. Kurt forced his face to remain expressionless as he watched Mike greedily grab the bottle and start sucking on it. So that was how he was meant to eat? He was really going to be treated as though he were a baby here? Kurt wasn’t sure he wanted to know what exactly was in the bottle. He couldn’t tell whether it was milk or actual baby formula and he didn’t get the chance for a closer look. Mr. Porter yanked him off the barrack bed by the ropes and Kurt felt his knees slam into the rotting wood floor. He bit down on the pacifier to keep from making any kind of noise at the pain shooting up through his legs.

When Mr. Porter tugged on the ropes to get Kurt to move, the boy realized one of his knees had sunk through the rotting wood when he landed and the struggle to move after his master caused him to cut up and scratch it and probably embedded splinters in it. But there was just no way he would give Mr. Porter the satisfaction of thinking he could punish him. Not right away. Not after the last time he had been purchased.

“Faster Baby Kurt. Have they not taught you about speed child?” Mr. Porter commented when he realized Kurt was struggling to keep up. The slave hastened his pace on his knees, clamping his teeth down tight over the pacifier in his mouth. He was going to be seriously splinter ridden after all this. Damn rotting wood.

He wasn’t sure whether Mr. Porter was looking for some type of response from Kurt other than moving faster like he’d ordered but he didn’t seem to be as he said nothing and returned to walking ahead and pulling the slave along behind him.

Silence befell the awkward journey and Kurt found his mind riddled with the thoughts of what playtime meant in this house. He was quite sure it had something to do with sex and then the very unnerving thought that Mr. Porter of all people, would be the first man to officially break Kurt in, to have him, to take that sacred v-card from him, somehow made his nerves hike up. He was quite sure that people who were pro-slavery would have considered this privilege an honor but honestly, Kurt thought it was a nightmare. All the dreams of having his first time be special and under the loving care of someone who honestly loved him and maybe, just maybe having it be his soul mate were just that, dreams. Kurt knew there was no possible way his first time could be with his soul mate. Selling started at the age of thirteen and his soul mate would have to be sixteen before he could buy him. And there was the fact that Kurt had no clue what the age difference was between them.

Eyes awkwardly shifted from their obedient gaze on the ground to his wrist, the one marked with the name. Who was Blaine Anderson? How old was he? Where did he live? Was he really going to love Kurt or would he be just another façade in the midst of the world? Kurt was stupid. He knew that even being soul mates, there was very minimal chance the other person would actually care about him.

One of the first things you learned as a slave once you were old enough to comprehend things, was that you were not worth being cared about. You weren’t meant to be cared about. You were nothing, worthless, the bottom of the food chain. Even scum had more importance than you did. These things were drilled into your head day in and day out and Kurt had often wondered what his world would be like had he not been born a sex slave.

The boy felt a sharp tug on his ropes and realized his brain must have drifted too far off. He’d slowed down a great deal and when he came back to his senses, they had stopped at the foot of a winding staircase.

“Are you thinking Baby Kurt?” Mr. Porter asked. “Because you know that slaves aren’t allowed to think,” he went on. His voice was the epitome of a parent scolding their young child. Mr. Porter clicked his tongue. “Naughty, naughty boy. I’m going to have to tie you for playtime.” He pulled something out of his pocket and Kurt recognized it immediately. It was a cock ring. “Also, I think denial would be an appropriate punishment, particularly because this will be your first time, am I correct?”

Kurt became aware that this time he was looking for an answer. “Yes Daddy,” he said obediently, happy that he hadn’t hesitated in his response.

“Good,” Mr. Porter said. He turned and began climbing the stairs, pulling Kurt behind him and pocketing the cock ring once more. Kurt’s eyes scanned sideways from his obedient head down position, taking in the décor of the corridors around him. This was his home. This was his master. He was going to prove that he was going to be worth the purchase, even after his walk of shame. The least he could do was that much. After all, hadn’t Mr. Porter surprisingly taken his side of that issue? Though he was an important figure in the black market world and that was probably part of his image to do that. Still, it wasn’t something that Kurt had expected to happen. For this man of all people to stand up for him and take his side was more than he could have ever asked for. He’d be happy to see just one person, anyone for that matter, take his side. To be believed by someone. Was that so much to ask? Apparently it was.

“Here we are,” came Mr. Porter’s voice again, snapping Kurt out of his reverie. The boy chanced raising his head to see they’d come to a stop in front of a pair of double doors. This was probably the man’s quarters in his mansion. Kurt forced back the swallow he had been about to do. He sucked forcefully on the pacifier. “Playtime Baby Kurt,” Mr. Porter said, reaching out a hand and stroking the side of Kurt’s face. He turned and opened the door, stepping inside and pulling Kurt behind him 

This was it. This was where he was going to lose his virginity. The fear crept up on him as the door clicked shut behind the slave.


	18. All Over The News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! You might notice that this story is now marked as complete. I know it might seem abrupt but you'll get an idea when you read the chapter and I'll explain more in the end notes!
> 
> Also, I saw Hedwig again and met Darren again and newsflash! If you ask him to, he WILL personalize the autograph! Also told him I was born in the same city he was and he asked me if I remembered what hospital I was born in. Typical Darren. :P
> 
> As always, comments and kudos make me smile. Enjoy!

Blaine wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Kurt closed himself off again. He wasn’t really paying much attention to the clock or the time on his phone. He was busy thinking about what he was going to do to prove things to Kurt and well, even though he’d told Kurt he would try and get some sleep between now and after school, he didn’t think he could. Contrary to everything else, the teenager felt wide-awake.

He was startled out of his thoughts when his phone rang and Blaine glanced down at it. He recognized the number as belonging to Burt Hummel and he wondered for a moment why the man was calling him.

Slowly, Blaine slid the slider over to answer the call and brought the phone to his ear. “Hello Mr. Hummel. What an unexpected surprise,” he said politely.

“Kid, please call me Burt,” the man replied and Blaine flushed. It was still kind of strange to call Kurt’s father by the man’s first name. It would have been even if this was a world where slavery didn’t exist and Kurt was a new friend of Blaine’s and he was just meeting his father, but this was kind of different.

“Sorry. To what do I owe this phone call?” he asked.

There was a momentary pause before Burt said in a very serious voice, “Blaine, are you and Kurt all right?” The question took Blaine by surprise.

“Of course we’re all right,” he said, tone sounding rather confused. “Why wouldn’t we be?” he added.

Again, there was a momentary silence on the other end of the line. “You don’t know?” Burt asked.

“Know what?” Blaine replied, now filling with worry.

“There was a break-in at Dalton last night,” came the reply.

Blaine went silent. He was stunned. So the intruder hadn’t gotten in undetected. But then, why had no one come after him? He licked his lips and shut his eyes, trying to remain calm. A furtive glance in Kurt’s direction was all he needed to remember he had to be strong for the slave. And there was absolutely no way, Blaine was going to tell Kurt’s father that the intruder had been after Kurt. Somehow, even with the man not having been allowed in his son’s life, he knew that would not fly well with him.

“Kid?” Burt prompted and Blaine realized that he had been silent long enough that the man must have thought he had lost him. “You okay?”

“Huh? Oh yeah,” he finally managed to say, biting his lip. “How…how do you know Dalton had a break-in last night?” he asked.

There was a beat during which Blaine could swear his heart was pounding right up into his throat and that it was loud enough to project itself right through the phone so Burt would be able to hear it and then the man would surely know that Blaine most definitely was _not_ okay.

“It’s all over the news,” Burt finally said.

That didn’t make sense. If it was all over the news, why hadn’t Blaine heard anything about it? Why did it seem like nothing was amidst at the school itself? Though after a moment of thought, the sixteen year old figured it out. The Headmaster would never allow the school to go up in an uproar. He suspected the man was trying to keep the school in the dark.

There was a knock at the door then and Blaine looked toward it with a terrified expression. Was he about to be questioned?

“Burt, I hate to cut this short but I have to go. Someone’s at my door,” he told the man.

“Right. Stay safe kid. And keep Kurt safe,” Burt responded.

“I will,” Blaine replied, hanging up his phone just as another knock rang out on his door.

“Blaine?” It was Wes and the teenager felt his body fill with relief he had never known before. He made his way to the door and pulled it open. Wes rushed in, not even waiting for an invite. “Have you heard? Oh dear, have you heard? It’s all over the news!” Blaine wasn’t sure how to take the way Wes was suddenly in hysterics. The only time he recalled ever seeing the Asian less than put together was the time Jeff and Nick decided to hide the man’s precious gavel. Sure, he didn’t really like it when they skipped practices but it was a worse deal if they did it without consulting him first.

“He wanted Kurt,” Blaine suddenly deadpanned. That got Wes to freeze in his hysterics.

“What?” he asked, eyes going round as saucers and staring at Blaine. Blaine shuffled from foot to foot, glancing toward the slave on the bed who still hadn’t seemed to move even in the slightest since the end of their last conversation. He gripped his phone just that much tighter.

“He wanted Kurt,” the boy repeated. “The intruder. He was here for Kurt,” he explained.

Wes just stared at him for several moments. “You have to tell the Headmaster Blaine,” he said finally.

“What?!” Blaine cried, shaking his head violently. “No way!”

“They’re trying to find a motive Blaine!” Wes pleaded. “The authorities won’t open a full investigation with intent on arrest without a motive. There is no physical evidence of the break-in, aside from a security guard who was knocked out cold.” So that was why the boy had managed to get passed security.

“Wes,” Blaine started. “Be reasonable. The Headmaster, nor the authorities are going to care that the intruder was after a slave,” he continued.

Wes stared at him for a moment. “They will if you prove said slave is your soul mate, which you purchased properly under law,” he said. Blaine froze. Wes was right. Initially, authorities didn’t care about slaves but when a sex slave had been rightfully purchased by their soul mate, any attempts to claim the slave without the consent of the soul mate master were punishable by law. It would give the authorities a reason to issue a warrant for arrest.

Blaine licked his lips. “He had Kurt’s name on him Wes,” he said softly.

“Wait, what?” Wes said, eyes going round like an owl’s. “Is that even possible?” Blaine nodded his head.

“Yes. The woman at the center told me that there are cases in which two or more slaves may have the same name on their wrist and vice versa. But should the names not match, the purchaser will be denied purchase,” he explained.

Wes just stared at him for a moment, before glancing between Blaine and Kurt who hadn’t moved from his position on the bed and Blaine had to wonder for a moment, did Kurt know anything? Or was he actually tuned out of the conversation? He wanted to go to the slave and wake him but he didn’t think that would be a wise decision right now.

“So that guy had Kurt’s name on his wrist?” Wes finally said, as though he wanted to confirm that which was seemingly impossible to him.

Blaine nodded. He looked back at Kurt for a moment before shifting his attention fully back to Wes and something struck him at that second.

“Wait a minute,” Blaine said, furrowing his brow. “When the woman at the center went to check if Kurt’s name matched me, she said someone else had attempted to purchase him the year before. Someone else who had Kurt’s name on his wrist. The boy in question wasn’t particularly happy about the denial and the intruder last night couldn’t be much older me. In fact, I think he was probably Kurt’s age,” he noted aloud to his friend, eyes going wide as the realization struck him. “He’s not taking no for an answer,” he added finally.

With those words out of his mouth, Blaine didn’t give the Asian adamant time to reply. Instead, he rushed to the closet and pulled his suitcase out, moving to haphazardly throw things into it.

“Blaine, what in the world are you doing?” Wes asked, staring at him in utter shock. He had never seen the curly haired boy – usually so put together – act in this kind of irrational manner and it was kind of scaring him if he was being honest.

Blaine looked up at him, but only briefly as he continued throwing things into the suitcase.

“I have to leave Wes,” he said shortly, tossing a couple of bowties in with the rest of the haphazardly organized clothing.

“Leave? What do you mean leave?” the older boy asked.

Blaine turned from where he was packing the suitcase. “If someone who has Kurt’s name on his wrist is serious enough to track down the slave and knock out a security guard in an attempt to break into Dalton to take him, than Kurt isn’t safe here.”

Wes blinked his eyes several times. “Have you lost your mind?” he asked Blaine. When the curly haired boy didn’t respond, he continued. “You said yourself, that boy is around our age. Kurt cannot possibly be in strong enough danger that you would make such a drastic decision.”

As he spoke, Blaine squished down the items in the suitcase and successfully zipped it shut. He looked back up at Wes.

“It’s not just that boy Wes,” he said, eyes narrowing. “The cart traders are after him too,” he added.

Wes was astonished. This was something Blaine hadn’t shared with him and without a beat, the boy grabbed his suitcase and moved it toward the door. Then, he grabbed his school bag and dumped all the books out of it. He started piling other necessities into it with his older Warbler friend just looking on for several moments, seemingly at a loss for words.

It was silent for several minutes. Blaine working on packing as fast as he could and Wes just standing there, the wheels turning in his head. Neither boy expected the silence to be broken the way it was after the awkward silence had stretched for far too long.

“Blaine’s right,” came the small voice. It was small and barely audible but there was no doubt where it had come from. Both boys froze and glanced toward Kurt. The slave still had not moved from his position but his acknowledgement of their conversation was proof that he was not asleep and he in fact, had been listening.

“What?” Wes asked in surprise.

The slave stirred, moving to sit on his knees and pulling the sheet up over his head. “I said, Blaine’s right. It’s not safe here. Not for me, or any other of the sex slaves that may be in this school. If the cart traders get any whiff of the idea that there are highly beautiful slaves here – and let’s face it, these boys are too rich to buy the cheap type – than it won’t just be me they’re after.”

Wes narrowed his eyes. “How will you leaving solve that problem?” he asked.

Kurt returned the boy’s narrow stare. “Have you ever had an encounter with a cart trader at this school?” he asked. Wes shook his head. “Exactly. Before following Blaine and I all the way here, they never had a reason to consider breaking into Dalton. They probably didn’t know much about it and normally, Dalton would be safe because they aren’t stupid enough to break into a place so heavily populated or guarded,” he went on. Wes didn’t say anything but Kurt didn’t want him to. He wasn’t finished. But Wes was quite surprised that the slave was speaking so much. Blaine must have been getting somewhere with him.

The boy continued. “Now that the one followed Blaine and I, they will have reason to assess the situation and well, if they’re smart enough to know where not to attack, they’re smart enough to figure out that Dalton, could potentially be a gold mine for them. People will play good money for the exquisite.” It was silent for a beat because everyone in the room knew Kurt had a point. “And to be honest,” he added after that beat. “I don’t think they would stop with just the sex slaves.”

Wes didn’t need that statement painted out in black and white for him to know what Kurt meant by it. Cart traders were greedy. Sure, they’re number one target were sex slaves because they brought in the most money but who was to say they wouldn’t take a non-sex slave and sell them off as a sex slave? There was really no telling what those sleazy people would do.

Kurt wrapped the sheet tighter around himself. “I agree that Blaine needs to take me out of here. We need to run. The sooner the better as I believe that I have potentially put every slave in this school at risk.”

Blaine nodded his head. “And I just want Kurt far away from that other boy.”

Wes looked between them for a moment. “What about reporting to the Headmaster though Blaine?” he asked.

The sixteen year old shook his head. “Not going to help really Wes. Besides, how is that going to put a stop in the other potential dangers Kurt faces?”

The pale boy was nodding his head. “And besides, it doesn’t matter what you tell your Headmaster. He’s pro-slave. I wouldn’t put it passed him to try and secretly sell me out to the cart traders anyway,” he said.

Wes was appalled. He hadn’t even thought of that.

“All right,” he finally said. “Maybe I should go with you.”

Blaine quickly shook his head. “No Wes, you have a job to do here,” he told him.

“He’s right Wes,” came a voice from the doorway. Both Blaine and Wes turned to see Nick standing there. He looked more serious than either Warbler had ever seen him. Kurt felt his body tense up but he didn’t move from his position on the bed. Nick turned his attention to Blaine. “But Jeff and I should come with you.”

Wes quickly started to protest but Nick shushed him when he finally revealed his wrist to the room at large.

“Jeff’s…” Wes started, but he was unable to finish the question.

“Does he know?” Blaine asked. Nick shook his head.

“No,” the brunette boy said. “Jeff was born taboo. Everyone involved in his life has sworn to protect him. Things were done to hide who he really was. And we’ve intended to keep it that way. But with this news, it’s probably best that he know the truth.”

Blaine and Wes both glanced at each other.

“Does he have your name too?” Blaine asked. Nick nodded his head but didn’t say anything to the matter.

Kurt settled a little bit more relaxingly into his position on the bed. “I think that’s a smart idea. Go on the run with Jeff now, before the world finds out the truth and then you’ll be targeted by more than just cart traders.”

Hiding the truth of a slave’s status as a slave was a felony and everyone involved in keeping that secret could be charged. Of course the severity of the charges depended on the class of slave. And since Jeff was not only a sex slave, but a taboo slave, the consequences for Nick, his family, and Jeff’s family could be dire.

“If the black market find out that Jeff is a taboo slave, he will almost certainly be sentenced to death,” Kurt revealed, sorry to give them that kind of news. “He’s gone past the age at which he should already have been sold for the first time, without anyone knowing he is actually a sex slave. That’s bad enough but taboo slaves, regardless of their classification, are usually killed at birth.” It was the cold heartless truth and the other three just stared at him.

“Do you know any taboo slaves?” Nick asked hesitantly.

Kurt stared at the boy for the longest time, not making eye contact but merely just looking at him. Nick clearly was being kept in the dark about some stuff. Either that, or he just was not interested in admitting that he knew any of this already.

“One,” Kurt finally said. “His name is Michael Chang and I haven’t seen him since I was thirteen. We were both slaves of Mr. Porter, even though his soul mate was a girl,” Kurt admitted. It was the first time he’d ever said anything about his past.

“Wait a second,” Wes said after a moment. “ _The_ Mr. Porter?! As in one of the most important names in the black market?”

Kurt nodded his head. “The very same. He was the second person to ever buy me and it happened just days after I was returned the first time.” The slave moved to wrap his arms around himself tightly and turned his head toward the window, an indication that he no longer wanted to speak of this.

“How did you know he was taboo?” Nick asked after a moment.

“He had the mark,” Kurt said simply.

Blaine and Wes exchanged confused glances. Neither of them knew what either of the other two was talking about. Blaine really didn’t know much about taboo slaves and neither did Wes.

“His father paid the doctors off to let him live,” Kurt added, remembering all too well that conversation he’d had with the other boy that night. He remembered wondering for a long time after Mr. Porter had finally returned him to the center, if Mike had ever found his soul mate. The boy had been his only friend there, if Kurt could really call him that.

There was a point in time that he had wanted to see if he could track down Tina Cohen-Chang himself and give her an idea where to find her soul mate. But at that time, he had no way of knowing where Mike was. He’d never seen him at his own soul center, which meant he wasn’t from there and since Mike had been with Mr. Porter first, he’d been returned first. Kurt hadn’t seen him since.

Blaine swallowed and his face took on a determined expression. “Okay,” he said. “Get Jeff. I’ll get you and him and Kurt out of here and be prepared to live on the run for a while.” Nick nodded his head. He was just on the point of rushing out of the room when Wes spoke 

“What about Kurt’s appointment this afternoon?” he reminded Blaine. Blaine glanced toward Kurt and sighed.

“I can’t take any chances, not with it all over the news already. I need to get Kurt out of here as soon as possible,” he said. “If that means I have to call Dr. Olsson and cancel, I will. But I know that she will understand.”

And even as he joined his slave in staring out the window, he honestly knew that she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm thinking you might get an idea of where this is heading. My new plot plans for this series - yes there will be more to follow - developed as I was writing this chapter. The next story will be taking place on the run. I feel like the series has to go somewhere progressively rather than just the long legged journey of getting Kurt better. So, I hope you understand now why I've decided to end this first fic here with this chapter. Keep an eye out for the next installment.
> 
> Also, this is the most I've written of a Klaine story without any real romantic interactions between the boys and I assure you, it's killing me to emit that stuff but it's necessary.
> 
> See you soon for this verse and I do hope you will read other stuff I come out with! Thanks for all your support by the way. It's been absolutely overwhelming. I'm not a big angst fan so this is a challenge for me to write something this dark. So I'm incredibly grateful and blown away by your response. Hopefully, there will be fluff in the future!
> 
> Until then, happy reading!


	19. Sequel Is Up!

Hi guys! I just thought I would post the link to the sequel here for you all to see! First chapter is up! Sorry for the wait!

[The Soul Chase](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4922959/chapters/11295595)


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